It Only Hurts
by FairyTale87
Summary: What if Charles's past had been slightly different? And if there had been a love interest both he and Erik shared? Charles/OC/Erik
1. Chapter 1

_Chapter One_

_Georgetown University, 1955_

Charles Xavier closed his eyes, allowing his head to fill with the thoughts of everyone around him. He had always found a strange comfort in letting others' thoughts echo through his eager mind. Their fears, their pleasures, their stories filled his body, allowing himself to momentarily forget that he was Charles Xavier- the poor little rich boy who had found his father far out in the many acres of lush fields the Xaviers owned with a bullet in his head. For a moment, he could forget that his foster sister hated him, and that he hadn't spoken to his mother in over six months, despite the desperate letters and many thank yous for paying his tuition he had sent to her. Charles sat idly on the bench, enveloping himself in the strife and joys of others, silently wishing he was anyone but himself. Soon though, reality started seeping through the many barriers he had set up out of desperation in his head, forcing him to remember the truth. He _was_ Charles Xavier, the pitiable rich boy who had found his father dead and had a foster sister who despised his mere existence, and a mother who thought her only obligation to her son was no more than sending Georgetown a check. Charles opened his eyes, allowing their vibrantly blue, yet tragically vacant stare to grace the world. Inhaling deeply, his nostrils were filled with the pleasant floral scent of spring. On the surface, Charles was fine- completely held together by skin that had been blessed with touching every item a privileged English boy deserved; his blue eyes faking a pulsating glow, and could find a way to conjure up a flash of specious cheerfulness. And though his smile seemed effortless and genuine, if someone was to not just see Charles, but look at him; really look at him, they would see fragile strength no more stable than a time bomb and crippled agony that lied not far beneath the forged glow of bliss.

Charles sighed, and got up from his slumped position on the bench. It was always the most depressing time for the young Xavier when final exams were ever so quickly approaching and his practiced brain need not study long. The situation allowed for Charles to wander the 110-acre campus until he had memorized all nooks and crannies, with the only escape from reality being invading another's mind, letting their emotions become his. Shrugging his feelings of self pity away as quickly as possible, he began to walk briskly down the cement walkway. He stared in numb interest at the small little beings that scurried about the ground seeming to always be late for something. As his mind pondered on the idea of where the little creatures were off to, he felt his body collide with another. Seeing papers sway with the wind down to his feet, he instantly dropped down to a kneel to pick them up.

"I am so sorry," Charles heard a voice say franticly, he raised his eyes to meet what looked to be an angel. The sun hung right above her head, creating a sort of halo around her wavy blond hair, her green eyes glistening brightly. Papers stacked safely in his grasp, Charles rose slowly, trying not to stare too obviously.

"Here are your papers," he told her, handing them back to her, hoping to god the tremble he had in his hand wasn't painfully apparent. Charles saw a delicate smile start to dance its way onto her perfectly pale skin, the only way he could think to describe it was a peaches and cream. Taking the papers from him, their hands touched and Charles felt a shock of something. He had heard the many cliché stories of the chemicals reacting in just the right way when two hands touch that are bound to be lovers, but he had thought the stories to be rubbish. In this moment though, Charles Xavier questioned his stance; the last time he did this was when he was ten, and he had met Raven- his now hateful foster sister. As Charles watched the girl in front of him, he saw her feet begin to inch dangerously away from him as if she was about to walk away.

Before she could step past him though, Charles reached out a hand accompanied with a "Charles Xavier, how do you do?" A smile then began to find its way on his lips, and it was only after it had fully developed into a grin that he realized he didn't have to fake it.

"Aila Schoenlien," her honey sweet voice seemed to sing as she shook his hand, "and fine thank you, and yourself?" Her eyes flashed with a small hint of joking. Charles, who had always been a superb people watcher, realized she was mildly taunting his very formal introduction.

"A wonderful day out, quite hard to be anything but fine," he smiled in return, crossing his arms leisurely.

"Too true," Aila smiled, tucking a stand of hair behind her ear, "and sorry for running into you." She provided Charles with a small shrug of apology.

"Nothing to be sorry for," he said waving away her apology, "if I had been paying attention, I wouldn't have hit you." Silence fell between the two, and Charles racked his brain for something to say to make her stay. "Well, with all those papers, you must have some difficult classes." He dropped his gaze to the stack of papers now tucked under Aila's arm. She gave a small smile.

"I'm a psychology major; not hard, just a ton of work," she gestured, slightly lifting the wad of papers. Charles gave a nod in return, liking this girl even more with each second that passed.

"Psychology is certainly an interesting topic. I am studying genetics; focusing mainly on its mutations." Charles felt that the major fit him well. His mind had always been quick to learn science, and who better to learn about genetic mutations than a mutant?

"Oh, how interesting!" Aila's smile grew, and Charles realized that her excitement was genuine. Never had he met someone so interested in what he did- not even his professors. Aila Schoenlien seemed too good to be true, but as he looked at her, she never vanished back into the locked dungeon of Charles's imagination.

"Interesting," he echoed dreamily, "I've never heard that response before. Most people do the polite nod, the awkward five seconds of holding the gaze of fake enthusiasm, and then returning to fidgeting with some article of clothing. You though, gave a response that actually possessed words, and have held my gaze now for much more than five seconds. And would you look at that, your clothes are perfectly intact; not a wrinkle in sight." Charles gave a bright smile, his eyes dancing with long since felt pure joy.

"Would you look at that," Aila chuckled in return, looking down momentarily at her navy dress. When her eyes rose back up to meet Charles's, he couldn't help but wonder what she thought of him. A short peek into her thoughts wouldn't be too intrusive, he figured, and he began to try to slip inside Aila's supposedly locked mind. Just when he could almost feel her thoughts trickling into him, he was stopped.

"_Sneaking into a fellow telepath's thoughts is a very tricky feat, I'd venture to guess?_ Charles saw the small amused smirk work its way onto her face and he chuckled both in his thoughts and aloud.

"_Yes, I'd say it is quite difficult. I must say that a telepath studying psychology certainly is a walk in the park."_

"_Debatable, though. But a mutant studying mutation is very fitting though. So, where do we go from here, Charles Xavier?" _Aila raised an eyebrow, staring at Charles with an even more inviting tint in her emerald eyes.

"Well, for one thing, may I suggest physically speaking to each other? Staring 'silently' isn't the most usual of things to do in the middle of a walkway." Charles raised an eyebrow in return at Aila matching her gaze as he did.

"As you wish," she replied. "This certainly is the most unusual back and forth flirtation I have ever been a part of," Aila chuckled.

"Whoever said I was flirting?" Charles challenged. Aila gave a subtle roll of the eyes and laughed.

"Even if I couldn't tell what you were thinking, it is really obvious by looking in your eyes. I must say though, that I am flattered to have such a beautiful pair of blue eyes staring at me like you are." Aila looked down at her watch and gave a solemn sigh. "My next class starts in ten minutes, so I have to go." Charles tried his best to not let his disappointment show, but knew well that he was failing. "But… 'call' me later and we can meet for coffee. You can tell me all about your studies of genetic mutations, and I'll try my best not to fidget with my clothes." Aila gave a tender smile and stepped closer to Charles. She placed a soft kiss on his cheek. Charles felt the fireworks go off where her soft lips had touched his never fully loved skin, and he closed his eyes. "I know you wanted me to," Aila whispered quietly to him, then walked past him bound for her next class. Charles touched his cheek gently afraid if he felt it too harshly the electricity would fade. He could feel his heart pounding in his ears, and Charles couldn't help but love the feeling.

He began to walk dazed once more, but found himself without the constant desire to be someone else other than Charles Xavier. Finding his way to his dorm he sifted through his pocket for his key. As he approached, he saw Raven leaning against the entrance to the dorm. Charles's chest began to constrict and the vacant gaze found it's all too known home in his blue eyes.

"Raven," he greeted numbly, "what are you doing here." No smile appeared on his face and no flash of glee danced in his eye; not even the forced one.

Raven sighed, her blond hair falling in her face. "I'm in trouble Charles," she mumbled crossing her arms.

"What possessed you to think coming to me would be of any help?" Charles raised a disappointed eyebrow. Ever since he had gotten into Georgetown, Raven had been a bitter mess of incoherent feelings, letting the wrath of her fiery emotions to fall completely on Charles.

"Because you're my brother," she replied quietly, meeting his gaze.

"No, no, do not do this, Raven. Do not put that guilt on my shoulders. You're the one who walked away." How could she do this to him? Raven wanted nothing to do with him for almost four years, and how here she was begging Charles for money.

"Only because you were going to leave me!" Her voice rose to an angry thunder just short of a scream. "I thought it was going to be you and me against the world, Charles. But then you decided college was more important than me. I had no choice but to leave; the only way I could was to force myself to hate you." Raven's voice lowered again, her words striking Charles right in the heart.

"Raven," he said softly, "you know I would do anything for you. But I have no money to offer you."

"Just let me live with you. You're graduating soon anyway, and I won't be that much of a bother. I'll just roam around all day like a student; no one will care. You have less than a month left here, Charles, please." He saw the desperation in her stare, and he felt his armor crumble away from him rapidly.

"Alright, Raven. But no more of this hatred, yes? It's a crippling feeling to possess for too long." He gave his foster sister a weak smile.

"Promise," she whispered, and wrapped Charles in a tight hug. For now, the world of Charles Xavier was put to a comfortable rest, and he squeezed Raven tighter.

* * *

><p>Alright, so another new story. Yes, I know, I have so many started; but I had to write this. Since I saw the X-Men movie, I became obsessed and had this idea floating around in my head for a very long time. Since I've never written any of these characters before please tell me if they're too OOC. Plus most of this story will be centered on Charles, but Aila and Raven and Erik Lensherr will have very big role as well- just for your information. Hopefully a new chapter will be up soon.<p>

**Remember, reviews are love, people!**


	2. Chapter 2

_Chapter Two_

_Georgetown, 1955_

"Where are you going?" Raven asked as Charles headed for the door. The shape shifter tried her best to keep the panic out of her voice, and allow for the calm dominance in her personality to take over. Charles looked back at Raven and scrunched his brow. She had been living with him now for two weeks, rarely leaving the dorm, and clinging to Charles like a lost puppy- even trying to convince him to skip class just so he wouldn't leave her. Charles could feel her fiery frantic feelings crash into his own mind, having to endure the full effect of the lack of emotional stability Raven had. She wanted him beside her forever, whilst wanting him to stay back and allow her to make her own choices in life. Charles sighed.

"To get coffee," Charles stated obviously and quickly. Keeping his gaze on Raven, he could feel her hoping he had more to say; anything, just as long as he wouldn't leave. Though he was anxious to see Aila, he had a duty to his sister he couldn't escape, nor would he ever choose to. "Raven, is everything alright with you?" Concern filled the Englishman's eyes, and his brow furrowed deeper. He took a delicate step towards Raven, fearing if he stepped too suddenly she might snap.

Raven stared at her brother blankly, starting to bite her lower lip. "I- I don't know Charles," she whispered, "I don't know about anything anymore." She shook her head in an attempt to keep the tears from falling. Charles took two more cautious steps, until he was close enough to put a comforting hand on Raven's shoulder.

"What is troubling you so deeply?" Charles inquired carefully. "Talk to me." The last words came out sounding almost like a desperate plea, but Charles was never one to pester someone who didn't wish to share their feelings.

"I'm feeling everything at once. I can't- I can't describe it. Can't you just read my mind? Then you'll know; and probably have some reasonable or easy explanation for everything." Raven's green eyes looked up at Charles, but soon dropped to the ground. "You always were the smarter one," she mumbled. It took all of Charles's restraint not to recoil at her last words.

"That is what this is about, Raven? Intelligence?" He gave a humorless chuckle. "Raven, you and I are different. I read, study, and prefer a lab to the outside world. You though- you, are vibrant and fun; you thrive in the social world. Do not compare yourself to me. Or to anyone for that matter; it is the Achilles Heel of any pursuit of true happiness."

"But how can I not," Raven replied with a small cry. Closing her eyes, she let the beautiful mask fade from her body, allowing the deep red hair and blue skin to come to the surface. "Look at me," she continued weakly, "how can I not compare myself to you? Or to anyone? I'm an ugly creature- a creature with no real future. I'm not smart enough or practiced enough or- oh, god, I'm a failure." Raven hung her head allowing the long awaited tears to finally fall. Charles anticipated her movements, and as she crumbled to the ground, he put his arms around her, dropping to his knees as she did.

"No, Raven, you're much more than that. I _know _you are." He ran a hand softly down her hair and felt her body shake with the tears. "But me believing it means nothing if you do not. You have the potential and ability to be anything you want to be in this life. Raven, self pity will get you nowhere, so don't wallow too long in the depths of issues you actually have the power to fix."

"You make it sound so easy," she whispered weakly. "It's not though. I've tried to tell myself I don't have to be smart like you, or normal like most of the goddamn planet, but it never works."

"Because you never allow it to, Raven. You have created a raging battle between yourself and the world, and you believe neither party is content with who you are. That belief will be true if you keep telling yourself it is. But Raven, I will tell you something: everyone is insecure with themselves in some regard. The trick though, is to overcome it. Whether it be accepting yourself for who you are, or burying your insecurity so far down, even you sometimes forget it is there. I can't change how you view yourself, but the sooner _you_ figure out how to do it, the happier you will be." Charles gave Raven a warm smile and rubbed her back gently.

"You're right," she replied, "you're always right. And I'll try to be more confident," she said with a smile. "But not today." The blond haired, pale skinned Raven found her way back over her body, and Raven felt herself at a forged, yet content peace. Charles gave a nod with tight lips, and then rose to his feet.

"Will you be okay then, Raven?"

"Yeah, I'll be okay," she nodded with a small smile.

"Splendid," Charles replied, clasping his hands together, though not fully believing his sister's words. "Well, I'm off, and will be back soon."

* * *

><p>"I never took you to be the fashionably late type of guy," Aila greeted as Charles rushed into the on-campus coffee shop, and sat down heavily next to her.<p>

"I most certainly am not," Charles started off, hoping that would be a sufficient explanation. "And I truly am sorry; I was held up."

"Your intentions were good though, so apology accepted." Aila gave a warm yet playful smile.

"Brilliant," Charles smiled, until he had processed what Aila had actually said. "Wait, I beg your pardon? My intentions?" Aila was a wonder to Charles. No one had ever fully succeeded in outsmarting him, yet here Aila was scrambling his brain until Charles almost felt- gods forbid, of normal intelligence.

"Yeah. You're late because you were helping your sister. A very noble act, even if it meant leaving me alone here to watch my coffee become nastily cold." Aila gave a blithe smile, beginning to laugh a little.

"Laughing at your own wit," Charles mused, a playful mischief flaring in his startlingly blue eyes. "And I believe we need to have rules about accessing each other's thoughts." He leaned his elbows on the table, as if giving Aila a silent challenge.

"Sometimes it's good to acknowledge your own brilliant sarcasm," Aila supplied. "And ah, rules…truly needed, until you feel the undeniable urge to break them. But as you wish, Mr. Xavier. I propose we ask each other before entering the other's thoughts. Sound reasonable?" Aila then allowed a smirk to creep its way onto her delicate features once she realized something. "You know though, you were running late even before you helped your sister."

"It is not my fault George Orwell is a captivating author…" Charles, for once in his life, actually felt ashamed for losing track of time in the musty smell of a really superb novel. "And yes, that rule seems very reasonable indeed."

"Good," Aila said pleasantly. "But George Orwell, honestly? I cannot stand his writing. The entire time I read his work it feels as if someone is scraping their nails on a chalkboard." Aila shuttered slightly at the topic of George Orwell.

"He is a genius with symbolism and satire," Charles defended almost dreamily.

"Envious, are we?" Aila replied, the playful smirk still dancing gleefully on her features. "Not to worry though, since he is dead, and you've barely been able to make your mark on the world yet."

"Well, thank you very much for your words of encouragement," Charles smiled. Moments later, both Aila and Charles felt a wave of uncontrollable emotions enter the shop, and they turned to find Raven storming towards them. Charles had felt her eerie presence since he had entered the shop, but Aila was just so captivating he thought nothing of it. Now though, he wished he had.

"Raven, what are you doing here?" Charles asked softly once she had made her way to their table. Raven's eyes flickered with the cold hatred Charles had seen when he first got his acceptance letter to Georgetown. Another layer of hurt loomed above the hatred.

"I followed you here," she replied numbly. "I was curious what you do here, and of course I find you meeting up with a girl." The bitterness in her voice even left the biting taste in Charles's mouth, and he could sense Aila felt it too. Charles had always loved Raven, but as of late she was making it very difficult to do without a struggle.

"Raven, me meeting a girl is no reason for this harsh anger," Charles replied, trying to soothe his sister.

"Oh, so now I'm not allowed to feel a certain way in a certain situation? Well that's just great, Charles. Dictate me, and then leave me." Raven crossed her arms tightly. Any kindness Charles had in his eyes died, and he could no longer give Raven the benefit of the doubt- she was being utterly ridiculous. What had happened with Raven when Charles went off to college he did not know. The flash of temptation to weave his way into Raven's mind made its taunting call, but he forced himself not to answer.

"I am not attempting by any means to tell you how to feel. You know I would never do such a thing. And I would never abandon you, Raven; what would ever make you think that?"

"It's how it always works, okay? I'm fun to keep around until someone or something better comes along, and I become no more than a memory." Raven bit her lip, "it's how it always works." Her voice died down, and it became a pathetic whisper. Aila saw that Charles's mercy was wearing thin, and that Raven was nowhere near done with her rant, and that she was far from fine. Aila found herself torn if she should speak or allow brother and sister to work it out. It became a tiring debate beginning to resemble the Wimbledon tournament, until Charles gave her a subtle nod, giving her permission to talk.

"No, it doesn't have to be like that. In fact, it shouldn't." Aila gave Raven a hard stare.

"I wasn't talking to _you_," Raven bit out harshly. "Who are you, anyway?" By now, most of the coffee shop had its attention turned to the three, and they all felt the heat of the shop's stare on their backs. Charles felt the manager just itching to kick them out for disruptive behavior, and Charles couldn't help but agree, so took the liberty of doing it.

"Outside," Charles directed, addressing both women, and they followed him with silent obedience. Charles slammed a few dollars on the table and then led them out. Once the three had reached safety outside of the small coffee shop, Charles turned to face Aila and Raven, his body creating an invisible fence neither woman dare try to jump. "Aila is right, Raven," Charles finally said after many moments of agonizing silence. "You are making a very large deal out of something that isn't even an issue at hand. I understand completely that you are going through a very hard time, but this melodramatic approach is a tad much. Would you not agree?" He raised an eyebrow at his sister, awaiting her reply.

"So what if it is? I deal with my situations the way I want to. Neither you nor Aila," she looked coldly at the other woman, "can tell me how to do it. You know something, Charles; maybe it was a mistake for me to come here." Raven felt such an odd satisfaction with putting her perfect brother in a do or die situation, that she didn't even think about what she would do if he actually told her to leave.

"Maybe it was," Charles replied darkly, his eyes glazing over with such a cold bitterness that Raven could almost feel the ice on her breath. Logic finally made a much delayed appearance in Raven's head, and she began to panic. No, this was not what she wanted.

"No, I didn't mean it. I'm sorry. Sorry for everything. I don't hate you; I don't want to leave," the sincerity in her voice was so apparent and desperate, that Charles's icy armor began to melt. "And it's okay if you like Aila; I have no place to mess with that." Aila knew the young Raven was lying straight through her teeth, relying on the compassion Charles always readily gave. It left a sickening taste in Aila's mouth, because she knew Charles would probably forgive his sister, despite her taking advantage of him.

Charles sighed. "I know you meant no harm, Raven. But if you want to continue living with me, you have to learn to deal with your emotions." Though his words held no roughness, they seemed to skin Raven to the bone. She was swimming in treacherous waters, and she didn't know when she would go under again.

"I know I do," Raven said softly, and both Charles and Aila knew she truly believed it. The tension began to subside, until it fell completely dead.

"Good," Charles finally replied. "Well, who would like to sit and regroup?" Both girls nodded, and found a nice patch of grass adjacent to the coffee shop.

"So, Aila, what's your story?" Raven asked sweetly. Aila was a little taken aback by Raven's forwardness, but quickly recovered.

"My father was from Germany, but immigrated to Scotland in 1932 where he met my mother. My grandparents were not very fond of my mother marrying a German though, so they decided to immigrate to the United States, where I was then born. I grew up in Baltimore, and now attend Georgetown. My story is not a very interesting one, but it is the only one I have." Aila gave a smile accompanied by a small laugh.

"It is quite a nice one though, Aila," Charles said softly, and Aila could sense a drop of envy in his voice. From her time searching through his mind, Aila knew Charles's story was no simple or happy tale, but she did not know the specifics. Sure she had found memories and thoughts of his past, but they had been so dark and almost venomous, that Aila had not dared to see them.

"Thank you, Charles," she replied softly, and she couldn't hide the flirtatious smile that grew on her face. She wasn't quite sure what drew her to Charles, he was just utterly enchanting. Charles Xavier was not a one dimensional hollow man; every part of him had a story; an emotion. His blue eyes glistened with such strong feelings; Aila couldn't help but feel herself totally captivated in their ever changing emotion. Charles's smile was like a pleasurable lullaby that sung softly in the air every time it was directed to her, and she always felt herself losing her restraint with him.

Raven noticed how Charles and Aila stared at each other, and she felt herself become jealous. What was so captivating about Aila? Admittedly, she was gorgeous, but Charles had never been one to be too into women. Of course he flirted, but it never escalated into anything greater than that. The only constant woman in his life had been Raven, and she was damn pleased with that. Charles was _hers _not Aila's; she had been with Charles since she was seven- Aila had not even been for a month. But Raven knew it didn't matter how long Charles had known Aila; he liked her more than anyone he had ever been with, and it killed Raven. She knew Charles Xavier, and she knew that Aila would not disappear from her life- Charles was going to do whatever it took to keep Aila in his life as long as he possibly could.

It was one fault the great Xavier had: he trusted people too easily. It didn't matter that his mother had never loved him enough to be in the house for longer than four hours. It wasn't important that his father had killed himself, and left Charles abandoned and alone, having to virtually take on the world on his own. No; Charles still believed everyone was good, and he trusted them with all his heart.

"Hey Charles, I'm going to go back to the dorm." Raven got up, not even waiting for her brother to reply. Once the young girl was at a safe distance, Charles turned to Aila.

"I sincerely apologize for today." The guilt in Charles's voice was apparent.

"No, don't be. I got to meet your sister," Aila gave a sweet smile.

"You're too kind, Aila." Charles sighed, "I do not know what to do about Raven. She is so unstable and angry, and I cannot help her- I am part of the reason she's like this."

"You can't save everyone, Charles," Aila replied quietly.

"Of course I can't. But I should at least be able to save the ones I love. If I cannot do that, what good am I?" Charles ran a hand through his dark hair. He was not used to situations like this. He could usually be persuasive and compassionate to help the ones he wanted to, but he couldn't do it with Raven this time.

"You are good. The thing that matters is that you're actually _trying _to help Raven. Charles, most people would give up the first time she overacted- you didn't, and still haven't. You expect too much of yourself, and that isn't always a good thing." Aila's face showed the deepest of empathy for Charles.

"She is just so frustrating. Raven brings out the darker parts of me, and I don't know why. She puts me in such a regretful state, and it drives me mad."

"It's okay to not have all the answers, Charles. You are twenty one years old. Like I said, you haven't been able to put your mark on the world yet; and you most certainly can't expect yourself to have all the solutions either." Aila slid on the ground until her shoulder was almost touching Charles's, and she felt her heart flutter.

"Thank you," was all Charles said, but the rest was spoken when he softly touched her lips. His mouth was electrifying on hers, and seconds seemed to become hours. She traced her forefinger along his cheek until she reached the nape of his neck. She began to softly twist the ends of his hair around her finger, until they had to break the kiss for air. Aila lightly touched her lips, a tender smile growing on her face and a glow of joy burning in her eyes.

* * *

><p>I know I literally like just posted this story, but I couldn't help myself- I just love writing this story, and had to update. Alright, so I know this chapter was all over the place, but I'm trying to get these characters developed. And if it's rushed, I know. This isn't the bulk of the story (it will be 1962 when First Class takes place) so I'm trying to get to it as soon as possible. Anyway, <em>for those of you who didn't review, it would mean a lot! <em>_It only takes a second to review, but hours to write a chapter. _

**Remember, reviews are love, people!**


	3. Chapter 3

_Chapter Three_

_Annapolis, MD, 1960_

Charles paced back and forth, more anxious than he had been in months- he was going to propose to Aila. He breathed in sharply, running a trembling hand through his hair. Charles's body and mind were tense to the point where he could hardly breathe or walk. This was one thing Charles had no confidence in. _What if she says no? _But why would she; they have been dating for almost five years- it was time. _What if she doesn't love me? _Of course she does. Charles Xavier was a frantic mess, and his usual logic was nowhere to be found. Glancing at the clock, he realized Aila would be home soon. His tense body was now bound so tightly, he felt himself on the verge of snapping. Feeling the small box in his pocket, Charles's unstable fingers twisted it this way and that as he contemplated what to do. He had no idea how to ask such a wonderfully perfect girl like Aila Schoenlien to marry him. In theory, it was an easy thing to do. But theories never go according to plan. His heart seemed to stop as he heard the front door being unlocked. This was it: fight or flight. Closing his eyes, Charles took a deep breath in, exhaling as he turned to face the door. He tried his best to make his stance appear normal, but it looked as if he was a prisoner about to be shot. The door opened, and Aila appeared in the doorway, grocery bags in hand.

"Hi," she said sweetly, making her way over to him for a kiss. Charles attempted to conjure up a normal response, but fell just short of success. Aila felt his apprehensive body, and broke the kiss staring at Charles nervously. "What's wrong, Charles?"

Charles shook his head. "Nothing, nothing's wrong," Charles stuttered slightly, and took the few bags from Aila's hands, heading for the kitchen. His girlfriend followed quickly behind him, and Charles could feel her staring at him sharply.

"You're trembling," Aila stated, "it's not nothing." Once Charles placed the bags down uneasily on the countertop, he knew he had to face her. Gripping the edge of the counter slightly, he closed his eyes: he had to do this now. If he didn't, he knew not when his next chance would be. Breathing in, he turned to face Aila.

"I-" Charles tried to search for some logical or smart words, but all he got from his brain was an '_oh fuck it_', and decided it was better to say the first words that came to mind. "Aila, when I first met you, I had no inkling that I would speak to you. When I spoke to you, I had no idea that I would kiss you. And when I kissed you, I thanked god every day after that, because I got to have you in my life as more than a friend. Now, and I wish I had a more elegant way of saying this, I hope to have you as my wife." Charles took the small black box out of his pocket, his confidence rising after he saw the look on Aila's face.

Her emerald eyes were glistening with what looked to be the beginnings of tears, and her smile was so great that she could barely control it. Aila's dream was finally becoming reality. Soon she would be Aila Xavier, and she loved how it rung in her ears. Aila could feel her left ring finger begging to have the cold metal of the ring touch its skin.

"Aila," Charles said gradually with a smile, "will you marry me?" He flipped open the box, revealing a stainless steel ring- a diamond positioned nobly in the center. Aila held her breath, stunned by the ring's beauty. The light shined on it perfectly, allowing the precious stone to sparkle to its full potential. After seconds of staring, Aila realized that she still hadn't said the obvious answer of 'yes'.

"Of course I will Charles," Aila said with a tender smile, the color rushing to her cheeks. Charles let out an obvious breath that Aila guessed he'd been holding since he had asked her to marry him. Charles delicately took the ring out of its holder, placing the box on the counter to his right. Aila held out an anxious left hand, trying desperately to keep it steady despite her overwhelming excitement. The metal touched her skin, and Charles's hand brushed against hers softly. She didn't know what feeling was better: the long awaited diamond being placed on her finger, or the first touch she got from Charles as her fiancée.

"I never knew being proposed to in a kitchen could be so romantic," Aila said with a laugh, the broad smile still displayed on her face.

"We learn something new every day," Charles replied with a congruent grin, and stared at Aila, who would soon be his wife; it was an exhilarating reality. Aila took a step toward him, and embraced Charles in a tight hug. She leaned her head on his shoulder, listening to his heartbeat and feeling the calm rise and fall of his strong chest. Charles traced soft circles on her back, too giddy to do anything but.

"I love you, Charles," Aila whispered, cuddling her head deeper into his neck.

"I love you too," Charles whispered in response, kissing Aila's head lightly. As they stood there in the kitchen, Aila imagined her wedding day. Floral and white, everything a blur except Charles's entrancing blue eyes showing love for no one but her. Suddenly though, a thought came to her mind.

"I wish my parents could come to the wedding," Aila said, lifting her head. Charles allowed her to straighten; he stared at her, empathy filling his eyes.

"I know you do, Aila. They'll be there in spirit, though. Your parents would be so proud of you," Charles said softly in return, stoking his fiancée's cheek. He wished he could say more. Say something to take the threatening tears from her eyes and wipe the melancholy from her beautiful lips. But Charles had no words for Aila, or himself, to lessen the wicked impact of a perished loved one.

"They would've liked you, you know. My mother always told me to marry a smart man who could keep up with me, and I found him." Aila smiled weakly. She wanted to elaborate, but she knew she would break down if she did. This was a happy day- not one to be tainted with thoughts of her deceased parents. "Charles, what about your mother- will she be coming?" The question hit Charles hard. He hadn't thought about if his negligent mother would attend the wedding; or if she would even want to.

"I do not have an answer for you," Charles said softly. "I'm not even sure she would want to come." He leaned his whole weight on the edge of the counter, and crossed his arms.

"I am sure she will want to come, Charles. She is your mother." Aila began to trace Charles's shoulder, heading south down his arm. There was a new sensation every time she touched him now. He was about to be hers on a whole new intimate level, and she would be his in return.

"Hardly," he replied chuckling darkly. Charles caught his harsh words though, and quickly added, "but you're right: she is still my mother."

"We could invite her in person, if you'd want to. I've never met your mother, and you haven't spoken to her in months. It would be a chance for us to get away from here for a while as well." Charles looked at Aila doubtfully, but the smile on her face began to swiftly persuade him.

"I must admit it would be worth the trip to New York. And I can't deny a reason to be alone with you. _Very _alone," Charles said with a smirk.

"Exactly. Just you and me. No work, or obligations," Aila said with a smile, "or sisters." At her last words, Charles sighed.

"I know," he said seriously, "I know." Raven was now twenty three years old and still living with Charles and Aila. They had both told her that she should get a job of her own, and learn to stand on her own two feet. Raven, though, had just simply dismissed their words, dully saying she'd find a job soon. Aila was in no way opposed to Raven, but she was anxious to start her life with Charles. But with Raven around, Charles had to watch her like a hawk- allowing the couple little time to themselves.

"I'll talk to her when she gets home, Aila. I promise." Charles had always been soft when it came to telling Raven she had to get out of their house, and Raven played that weakness right to her advantage. "Aila, how is it that we can so easily go from blithe and happiness to trying to solve all of the problems of our world?"

"It's who we are, I suppose. I'm sorry to have started the whole mess. Let's start over, shall we Mr. Xavier?" Aila said, raising an eyebrow and placing her arms around Charles's waist.

"Let's, almost Mrs. Xavier," Charles replied, returning the gesture.

* * *

><p>It was four in the morning, and Raven still wasn't home. Aila had long since gone to bed, but Charles still sat in his chair, waiting for his sister to return home. With every tick the clock made, the angrier he got. Tapping his fingers on the armrest of the chair, he felt more like a father than he did a brother. Raven was too wild and uncommitted for Charles to simply be an older brother to her- she needed rules and to be watched. This responsibility had become a pestering burden to Charles, and Raven didn't seem to notice, or care, that he had it. This thought escalated Charles's anger to an almost lethal hatred. His usual sweet disposition was fading quickly, replaced by irritation that still dripped sore with subtle guilt. Charles hated what Raven made him become around her.<p>

He could sense someone approaching the front door, and he knew it was Raven- a drunken Raven. Charles sighed, and pinched the bridge of his nose with thumb and pointer finger. He had heard her numerous times in the past sneaking in just an hour or two before the sun rose, but this was the first time he had actually sat up waiting for her. Charles could feel her disoriented emotions begin to fill his body, and he realized that this conversation neither be pleasant nor easy. Finally the drunken Raven unlocked the door.

"Shit," she mumbled as she tripped over her own feet entering the house.

"Long night?" Charles asked coldly as Raven attempted to make her way to her room. She froze in her place, searching her mind frantically for some sort of explanation. "Sit," Charles commanded, and Raven knew she was in too much trouble to resist his request. Slowly turning, she hung her head, shuffling slowly to the couch.

"What's this about, Charlie," Raven giggled, slouching on the couch and crossing her legs. She knew Charles hated being addressed as 'Charlie', but she was too drunk and unaware to care. Charles tightened at Raven's words, and looked at his sister's useless form.

"It's four in the morning, Raven," Charles responded forcefully. He could tell his sister's eyes were glazed over and that her mind was far out in another world, not truly interested or listening to what he was implying.

"So?" Raven replied, with a lazy shrug of the shoulders.

"You cannot be out so late."

"I'm twenty three," Raven scoffed, "you can't tell me what to do." She sank deeper into the couch, making herself more at home. Raven knew Charles would soon give in and apologize for being so harsh with her- it was only a matter of time.

"You're right Raven, you are twenty three. Then tell me why you insist on acting like a child. Drinking with friends until early morning is not the way to better your life. You gave me your word that you would quit doing this- quit being an adolescent child dismissing her responsibilities." Charles looked at his sister with a hard stare, and Raven began to feel sick- he wasn't going to give up.

"Yeah, I'll do better. Just- let me sleep. I have a pounding headache." Raven gave Charles a sloppy smile, and began to stand up.

"No, you're not going to bed," Charles replied stonily. He leaned forward in his seat, placing a finger on his temple. Slowly, Raven's body was forced back down to the couch, and bound there by the invisible ties of Charles's mind.

"What are you doing, Charles!" She frantically whipped her head to either side. "You promised me you'd never do this to me!"

"And you, Raven, promised to _me_ you'd stop this behavior and find a job." Charles would not let Raven free. "Why do you make me act like this towards you? Remember when I told you that you were worth so much more than you thought you were?"

"Yes," Raven mumbled dryly in return.

"I still believe that you are. But no matter how hard I try to instill that reality in your head, you just reject it. You rely on my supportive words and on the safety net Aila supplies for you, but you cannot do that forever. Raven, I asked Aila to marry me. We are moving forward with our lives, and so should you." Charles's words smashed into Raven with such a force, she felt the air leave her lungs. He asked Aila to marry him- the one thing Raven had been dreading for years.

"You- you asked her to marry you?" Raven's voice was weak, and she tried to hold back the tears. It didn't matter that Charles was technically her brother- she loved him anyway. She loved his soft smile and kind eyes. He would never love her the way she loved him, and it killed her.

"Yes Raven," Charles said quietly. "You knew this was bound to happen." He paused. "Raven, you are my sister and I love you. But the world moves on; it grows and evolves and takes those next steps. You aren't doing that though, and it's hurting you. Raven you are old enough to find a job and get comfortable in your own life. This isn't goodbye by any means, but it is a request to start _your _life- not live off of mine and Aila's." It destroyed Charles to say this to Raven, but it was needed. No longer would he be taken advantage of by his sister, and no more would he feel guilty about keeping her here, and guilty about having to let her go.

"How could you do this to me?" Raven cried softly. The buzz the alcohol had given her faded drastically, and she felt the crash of reality tumbling over her with its full weight. Raven didn't want this to happen. Charles, her best and most supportive friend, was kicking her to the side. Sure, she had been an irresponsible bitch, but family always helps family, right?

"This situation is of your own doing."

"But-"

"No. You have six months to find a job and start looking for a place of your own- no extensions." Charles knew it was harsh- mean- cruel, even. But sometimes even the tender Xavier had to take a stance.

"Six months?" Raven whispered in horrified shock. "That's so short."

"Well then, I propose you get to it." Charles rose from his seat, finally letting Raven free of his mental cage around her. He walked away headed for the stairs, not daring to look back at Raven. He knew if he did, he would take back everything he had said in a heartbeat.

As he made his way into bed, he did so with a heavy heart. He slid in next to Aila, his body seemingly numb with guilt.

"You did the right thing, Charles," Aila whispered to him softly, rolling to face him. She put her head in her hand, and propped her elbow on the pillow- she knew she was in for a long conversation.

"Then why does it feel so wrong? You should have seen the look on her face, Aila." Charles shook his head. He knew he had done what he needed to, but it still didn't lessen how awful he felt about it- what he had done went against everything he was.

"I know it was hard to do- I never doubted that it would be. But by giving Raven tough love, you helped her. You know I'm right." There was no way Charles could deny that Aila was correct. He knew she was- but his actions still ate at him torturously.

"I know you are. But the look in her eyes- Aila, I wouldn't doubt it if she hated me now."

"Come on now," she soothed in return, stroking Charles's hair, "this- what you're saying, isn't like you. If this was me talking to you about this, you'd tell me that one day, Raven would forgive me. It might take her a few months or so, but one day, she will look at me and say 'thank you, Aila, for helping me.' You would tell me that family could never truly hate family no matter how much we believe they can, and you'd say to just breathe, and that things will turn out for the best; that they always do, somehow. Where is that Charles, huh? Help yourself as much as you help others; the imbalance isn't doing you too much good." Aila gave a soft smile, cuddling up next to Charles. He replied by reaching around her body so that his hand lay protectively around her hips.

"It's much easier giving advice to others, than it is yourself. Since I'm part of the situation, it makes it quite difficult to have an unbiased outlook when trying to tell myself it'll be okay."

"It'll be okay, Charles," Aila responded with a light laugh, and then rested her head on her fiancée's chest, swiftly drifting off into sleep.

* * *

><p><em>Westchester, NY, 1960<em>

"Are you sure you want to do this?" Charles asked Aila hesitantly as they approached his childhood home. His emotions were like a wrecking ball to his sanity, and he hoped that just maybe Aila would have a change of heart and not want to meet his icy mother. He looked down at the perfectly groomed grass, the cobblestone that lay in perfect imperfection, and to the trees around that were lined in faultless symmetry. To anyone other than him, the estate would be viewed as a heaven, but to Charles Xavier it was a dungeon speciously hidden by beauty; he knew the loveliness was only skin deep. Inside lay dark corridors and looming memories of a torturous past, and their master being the witch that was Esmeralda Xavier.

"I'm sure, Charles. And you need to see your mother at some point. Now's as good a time as any." Charles gave a slow nod, and continued down the pathway that led to the large mansion in the center of the estate. Its epic appearance looked like a castle that belonged in a fairytale, but Charles could more easily picture it in a horror film. He sighed and begun to put his walls of protection up in his head. He knew Aila could sense them growing taller and taller in his mind, but she said nothing of it. The couple walked slow and silently towards the door. Aila gave a sideways glace toward Charles, and he appeared as if he was entering a funeral home. Aila had no doubt though, that it probably was akin to one for Charles. In this very place, his innocence, childhood, and father had died. She figured that constituted as a funeral home.

"Here goes everything," Charles mumbled and rung the doorbell. They heard a massive echo from it, and Aila couldn't help but drop her jaw in awe. Yes she knew her fiancée was rich, but having a house where the doorbell echoed _that _loudly? Spectacular. Charles though, didn't share Aila's fascination. He had heard that bell too many times to remember, and he had answered its great call to find men usually standing outside ready to take his mother to whatever stunning restaurant they had gotten reservations at. Charles and Aila then heard the shuffling of feet and the eventual opening of the door. In the doorway stood Esmeralda Xavier:

Her skin was so deathly pale, it could be a reasonable guess that she hadn't stepped into sunlight in months, and her once awe striking blond hair now lay in a bun of gray strands. Her bony and wrinkling fingers still held all of the spectacular rings and gems they always had, but the jewelry looked less dignified on her now weak and decaying hands. Esmeralda's clear blue eyes held no delight or joy at seeing her son's face and her lips were planted in the tight straight line Charles was sure had been frozen on his mother's face since the day her husband was found dead.

"Charles," Esmeralda's cold voice stated drearily, "what an… unexpected surprise." She gave no hint or invitation to Charles and Aila, allowing them into the house. Aila gave a subtle glance to Charles, and saw his face in a stony stare that eerily matched his mother's. Even after five years of dating Charles, she was still learning about his murky past, and hadn't gotten him to tell her all of the details of the day his father died. Her heart twisted with pain and sympathy for her fiancée, but she knew she could do nothing to help him. This war was between Charles and his past- that including the bleak Esmeralda that still stood before them numbly.

"Mother," Charles replied matching Esmeralda's lifeless coldness, "may we enter?" His usually vibrant and inviting blue eyes lay dead in their sockets, utterly vacant and bleak. No pleasant smile danced on his lips and no hue seemed to be in his now pale and comatose skin. Charles's body was stiff and straight, as if Esmeralda Xavier was some sort of general he had to obey. Looking at the elder Xavier, Aila knew that wasn't far from the truth.

Esmeralda finally granted their request and silently moved to the side to allow Charles and Aila to enter the old and inwardly broken mansion. Mrs. Xavier led them to a sitting room with furniture in it that looked like it hadn't been changed since the turn of the century. The only light in the room was that of the sun desperately trying to escape past the gray skies, and did so without much luck. The young couple sat laboriously down on the blood red couch opposite of the chair Esmeralda set herself up in, her posture flawless, and her chin held up so high, she was literally looking down upon them. Both Charles and Aila knew she was doing this inwardly as well.

"Mother," Charles addressed again, "this is Aila Schoenlien- my fiancée." He figured it was better not to say too much per sentence. If he split up all he wanted to say, he actually stood a chance at having a conversation with his mother.

"Ah," Esmeralda drawled, "charmed, I'm sure." She stared at Aila with her empty blue eyes, and Aila could feel her looking her up and down, with a look of very well hidden distaste. "Pretty girl," Esmeralda said slowly. "Charles, you have chosen wisely. Though I do wonder why _she _would choose someone like _you_." Aila wanted to wring Mrs. Xavier's neck at her words, but Charles sent a message of '_no_', so she dutifully refrained. Aila could see that Charles was used to this kind of abuse, and he didn't even flinch at his mother's harsh words. Aila Schoenlien could only imagine the torturous hell that Charles was forced to endure as a child. It broke her heart to know that this was the sort of atmosphere such a tender soul like Charles was raised in.

"I suppose I am lucky," Charles replied dryly, dying more each second. He felt as if he was suffocating slowly with every glance his mother gave him. The memories were too vivid and near for him to push them away. The all too memorable day of his father's death came rushing back:

"_Dad?" A five year old Charles called, looking around the room, baseball and glove secured tightly in his grasp. His father had promised him that in his short time home, he would play catch with Charles before he had to go back to London for work. Vincent Xavier had moved his family to Westchester in 1941 after the war had escalated to a horror greater than anyone had ever imagined. _

_Charles continued to search around the large mansion for his father, without any luck. The, even then, highly intelligent boy figured his father was already out in the fields waiting for him. A bright smile grew on his face, and he bolted out the door to find his father. He knew his mother would reprimand him for running in the dirt and muck with his good pants on, but Charles wasn't too concerned- Esmeralda bought him a new wardrobe every few months, so her son would be 'well seasoned, and always in style'. When the young Charles Xavier made his way into the large grassy area, he had no idea where to start looking. As his eyes scanned the perimeter for his handsome father, his keen eyes couldn't spot him. Moments later, he heard a bang. As the thunderous sound pulsated in his ears, he realized it was a gunshot- coming from his left. Charles turned, to find his father collapsing to the ground. Even for a well educated Xavier, his tutors had never taught him how to deal with a gunshot- especially one that most certainly had hit his idolized father. Charles though, wasted no time in thinking out what to do next. _

_He began to sprint towards his father, and as he got closer, his feeble hope that Vincent Xavier was alive faded swiftly. Charles saw the limp hand acting almost as a placeholder for the traitorous pistol that had killed his beloved father. His piercing green eyes that once danced with life were now glazed over in eternal vacancy, staring at Charles mutely. Charles's breath caught in his throat and he couldn't breathe; couldn't think- about anything but the pain that now coursed through his veins. His body began to shake and his mind was a roaring mess of discombobulated emotions and thoughts, that simply couldn't tie together to form logic. Tears began to fall in what seemed like bucket loads, but he couldn't feel them- nor did he care that he was breaking his usual strong heart. Charles watched as blood trickled from his father's skull, unable to do anything to stop it. _

_He wondered what had possessed his father to commit such a thing as suicide. Was it the war? The lack of revenue and the abundance of working too many hours to wind up with virtually nothing? Was it Charles? Was he such a burden to his father, that he just couldn't take living with him anymore? What had he done to disappoint his father to such a great extent that he would actually kill himself over it? Was Charles that much of a failure in his father's eyes? Charles would later learn his father committed suicide because of blackmail from another company, but it didn't stop Charles from thinking Vincent Xavier's death was somehow his fault. It didn't matter how it was, or what the logic of it would be, Charles just knew he had something to do with it. As the five year old Charles stared down at the corpse of his once very alive father, he snapped. He let out a shriek of pure pain and agony, which then slowly morphed into a scream so piercing it could break the hardest and coldest of hearts- except for his mother's. By the time Esmeralda Xavier found her son, he was sobbing uncontrollably kneeling next to his dead father. _

"_Inside, Charles," Esmeralda commanded. Charles looked at his mother in bewildered shock, but he knew better than to fight with her on this- especially in this situation. He kissed his father one last time on the hand and then got up, beginning to walk away. Though Charles kept getting farther and farther from the painful scene, he kept turning around. He finally saw his mother collapse to the ground beside her deceased husband, but Charles could neither see, nor feel, nor hear any tears coming from his mother. He shakily turned back in the direction of the house, and continued on his way, tears falling, and head hung low. _

_Not too many months later, Esmeralda was sent to a mental hospital until she was deemed fit to raise a child. Charles was sent to his Uncle Henry's, his father's brother, in London, and lived there for the next two years until it was considered safe for him to return to his mother. In the four months after his father's death, Charles hadn't uttered a word. Not to Uncle Henry or Aunt Annette, and they feared the incident had muted their nephew for the rest of his life. Luckily, Henry began to give reading material to Charles and he soon fell in love with the works of Plato and Charles Dickens, until he could no longer keep quiet. _

_Once Charles returned to his mother, life became quite similar to what the now twenty six year old Charles and Aila had to endure. _

"You are quite lucky indeed, Charles," Esmeralda said of the fortune Charles had in finding such a wonderful girl as Aila, even though Mrs. Xavier believed Charles did not deserve Aila's love. Though the words were never spoken aloud, Esmeralda blamed Charles for Vincent's death, and every time she saw her son's face, Esmeralda always could picture her husband's dead and vacant stare, with the bullet hole in the side of his skull. Esmeralda Xavier's heart would not allow itself to fully love Charles the way she had before Vincent's death, despite her many attempts when Charles had first returned home.

"Well," Charles replied dryly, "Aila and I do come here with a purpose." He gave a soft gesture to Aila, hinting that he wanted her to ask his mother if she would attend the wedding.

"Mrs. Xavier, we were hoping that you would attend our wedding. A formal invitation will certainly be sent out once we arrange the date, but we could not wait to ask you." Aila tried her best to be pleasant and smile, hoping it would offset the darkness of the room.

"Ah," Esmeralda replied, and paused for an agonizing few seconds. "I suppose I could make it- though I will have to know the exact date before I can say for certain." Charles knew that was the best and only response they would receive from his mother, and he silently accepted that.

"Thank you, Mother," Charles replied tightly yet with a politeness that only Charles Xavier could conjure up, and continued, "we will send out the formal invitations as soon as we arrange that date." Charles then rose from his seat, and began to hesitantly but dutifully walk over to his mother. She held out her right hand, and Charles kissed it softly, keenly hiding his distaste. It had always been a requirement that when Charles had had a conversation with his mother and was about to excuse himself, that he kiss his mother's hand.

"Pleasure seeing you, Mother," Charles said coldly, straightening once more to his full height. The bleakness in his eyes was still shocking to Aila.

"As to you, Charles," Esmeralda stared at him stiffly, "and a pleasure meeting you, Aila Schoenlien," she then added with a nod. Charles knew that his mother was now done with them, so he gave a small bow of 'goodbye' and then turned on his heel, heading for the door as fast as was still considered polite. Aila followed close behind, closing the door softly as she exited the mansion.

Once outside, Charles let out a heavy breath. He ran a hand through his hair roughly, the vacant comatose flare still dominating his blue eyes.

"Charles," Aila whispered tenderly and guiltily as they headed for the car, "I'm sorry."

"This doesn't deserve an apology, Aila. That was simply my mother." Charles's voice was still dead, full of lackluster and coldness and Aila tried to remind herself it wasn't directed towards her.

"I'm still sorry," Aila said, and then paused. "I- I don't know what I should or can say, Charles." It killed Aila to see the love of her life so miserable, but she knew there was nothing she could do. When it came to his past, Charles was a quiet mess of swarming emotions that he would probably never share with her, and Aila had accepted that. But now, having seen those memories become a reality, she realized just how difficult it must be for Charles to keep all of those bitter feelings locked up so deep inside him. Charles Xavier was too kind to deserve the dark past that he owned.

"You don't need to say anything, Aila. There is nothing to say. You met my mother, and delivered the message. Our errand is complete." Charles gave a shrug and continued to the car, his posture dignified and noble, almost as if no one had hurt him. Aila though, could see his eyes falter- his otherwise perfect façade was enough to fake anybody into thinking that Charles Xavier was fine.

They reached the car, and Aila stared at Charles. She couldn't take him like this any longer. Sighing, she wrapped Charles in a tight embrace, promising herself she wouldn't let go until she could feel his emotions become their normal bright selves. Charles hugged her in return, enveloping Aila in his arms. He leaned his head on her shoulder, and began to fight back the tears. It was then that Charles realized that his usually unbreakable walls had become weak and unpracticed with not seeing and enduring his mother in such a long time. He cursed his heart for growing weak in the always pleasurable company of Aila Schoenlien. As she held him, it became harder and harder for Charles to keep the tears securely in his eyes, but he was determined to stay strong. When Charles finally felt ready to face Aila without the threat of tears falling, he removed his head from her shoulder, and backed out of the hug. Aila held him by the shoulders, and stared at him lovingly- despite what had just transpired in the dark depths of his childhood home.

"I love you," Aila said tenderly, "and never forget that." She lightly kissed him on the forehead, and Charles closed his eyes, his body finally relaxing. Charles knew, that no matter what happened, he'd always have Aila there to love him, and that was enough for Charles.

* * *

><p>Okay, so that was a pretty long chapter! Hopefully you all enjoy it, though! I also wanted to thank everyone who subscribed, favorited, and reviewed for this story. It means so much to me! And it would also mean the world to me if you could <span>review this chapter since it took me many,many, many hours to write.<span>_ Plus, the more reviews I get, the faster the updates will be! _So please take the few seconds it takes to review. Thank you so much guys for all of your support!

**Remember, reviews are love, people!**


	4. Chapter 4

_Chapter Four_

_Annapolis, MD, 1962 _

Charles Xavier sat on the couch utterly pleased with himself. It had been exactly one day and four hours since he had received his PhD in genetics, and he couldn't help but smile. All of those years of classes, and reading, and stressful nights having the urge to throw his books against the wall, had finally paid off. Now Charles could support Aila and himself, and that sent a wave of confidence through him. Charles knew that Aila had had a looming stress over her head knowing that she was the one having to put a hearty bulk of money into savings, and both Xaviers knew that her job as a guidance counselor could barely cover it. But as of yesterday, that burden had been lifted from his wife's shoulders. Charles felt his muscles relax from their years of being caught in the climax of Charles's higher education, and he closed his eyes softly. The ring of the phone startled Charles out of his momentary serenity. Grumbling something under his breath, he heaved himself off of the sofa, trudging over to the phone. As giddy as he was to have his PhD, Charles couldn't deny that the only thing he desired to do was sleep. He gave one heavy sigh before answering the phone.

"Hello?" Charles ran a hand through his hair still attempting to fully awaken himself. There was a quiet muffling coming from the other end, and Charles began to scrunch his eyebrows- something wasn't right.

"Charles," a shakily deadened voice returned, "it is Aunt Pricilla." Charles froze. It was never for a pleasant reason that his mother's sister contacted him at home. He anticipated with great strain what his aunt would tell him next.

"Aunt Pricilla," Charles replied slowly, "what a pleasant surprise." It was a lie that both he and his aunt knew, but neither party mentioned anything of it.

"I wish it were an enjoyable call, but it is far from one. Charles, it is your mother." The twenty eight year old knew he should be feeling terror- fear- sadness, but none of those feelings went crashing into him. No reaction, for that matter, began to course through his veins.

"Good heavens," he replied, trying to cover the numbness in his tone, "what is wrong with Mother?" Esmeralda Xavier had always been one to exaggerate any pain or sickness she had, or thought she had, so Charles couldn't consider it a shock that there was some problem with his mother.

"I-" Pricilla breathed in deeply, as if trying to conjure up the strength to speak once more, "I am terribly sorry Charles." Again, Pricilla ceased to speak, and breathed once more. Charles heard his aunt sniffle a few times, that never being a good sign. It was far from normal for Pricilla or Esmeralda to cry. "Esmeralda is gone," Pricilla finally whispered, and Charles felt his aunt on the verge of a breakdown. After taking a moment to fully process what Pricilla had said, Charles's mind and heart seemed to stop- the two parts of his body which never ceased to work. How was he supposed to feel? Relief briefly came to mind, but he found that wasn't the emotion he was experiencing. Esmeralda had always been a force in Charles's life- more times for dark than good reasons- but she had always been associated in his life in some way. Whether it was hating her, trying desperately to be anything but akin to her, or, on some very rare occasions, contemplating what made Esmeralda Xavier who she was. The one person's mind Charles refused to enter was his mother's; fearing whatever was circulating in her brain was nothing Charles would enjoy feeling. Charles inhaled a breath shakily, telling himself he wouldn't cry.

"She's gone?" Charles replied softly. "What happened?"

"The doctor believes she fell down a flight of stairs. Oh Charles, I am truly sorry, dear. It certainly is a great loss." A flight of stairs? Why did his mother have to die so brutally? Of course Charles had never been close to his mother, now that she was gone, he viewed her differently. He suddenly felt himself miss the peppermint perfume she always wore, that had signaled when she entered a room many seconds before she had physically come in. Charles missed the majestic rings that his mother had displayed so proudly on her thin fingers, and the way they tauntingly caught the sunlight, giving his mother a vibe of nobility he knew she didn't possess.

"Yes, a terrible loss," Charles replied to his aunt, going through the movements as best he could, recalling the etiquette his mother had taught him for his father's death. _"Take the sympathy gratefully, but revealing strong emotion is considered weak. And we most certainly are not of the weak, Charles." _

"In your mother's will, she gave you the house and the Xavier wealth. Do with them what you will. I will allow you to mourn in your own way now, Charles." Aunt Pricilla's tone was a monotone one at that, but Charles couldn't expect anything else from his aunt- she was quite like his mother. Pricilla was older, and almost certainly had helped shape Esmeralda into the woman that she was.

"Thank you, Pricilla." With that end, Charles hung up the phone. He leaned up against the wall, unable to move. His emotions were a strong storm raging violently within himself, yet he couldn't feel their effect. Though Esmeralda had been far from a successful mother, she was the only one Charles would ever have, and now she was gone. He remembered when he was young wishing that god would let his mother die- take that one evil from his life. His mother had always forced him to pray, so he had. Charles cleverly thought though, that she had never specified what to pray for, so he decided to pray for Esmeralda's demise. Looking back on that dark fact now, Charles regretted every prayer he had ever made which included god killing his mother. Allowing his mind to wander aimlessly, he couldn't help but question: _god, are you there? Looking down on me? Have you finally granted a foolish prayer of a young boy_? _She perished even though you have 'protected' her all of these years. If you allow her to die, do you truly exist in the way the church has claimed you do? _Charles then shook his head. He hadn't thought about god or religion, other than for studious purposes, since he was a child. It was an amazement how his mother's death could bring to the surface parts of Charles he hadn't experienced in years.

Charles found himself walking silently back over the couch he had been sitting on only minutes ago, totally happy. Now though, it didn't matter that he had his PhD or that the stress of school was finally over: learning of his mother's death had put everything into perspective. Yes, jobs and education are important, but they should not be everything. The pride he had felt now quickly vanished, leaving him only as an anesthetized abyss of emotions wrapped in skin and held up by bone. Tears began to run down his face, but he quickly brushed them away. _"We do not cry Charles, for anything. All pain can be dealt with inside of the body- there is no reason it should be broadcasted to the world." _Charles's mother had told him that too many times as a child, but he could rarely comply with its demands. He had always been a boy of compassion, and what his mother had preached never fit with what Charles was.

"Charles?" Aila called, entering through the back door. Charles turned to find with muddy gloves from gardening out back. He replied by giving a weak nod.

"Why the dreary face? You just got your PhD! You should be smiling." Aila attempted to encourage him by supplying him with a grin, but Charles did not return her gesture.

"I don't have to smile about it," Charles mumbled, still too dazed to fully participate in any type of conversation.

Aila sighed. "What's on your mind?"

"My mother died, Aila. My Aunt Pricilla just called to inform me," Charles replied, keeping the emotion out of his voice. He couldn't believe he was following the guidelines set by his dead antagonist mother, but there was something oddly comforting in doing so.

"She- oh, Charles, I'm sorry." She moved closer to him, laying her head on his shoulder.

"I don't know how I feel, Aila. I feel nothing, yet everything."

"There are no requirements for what you should feel," Aila returned, lifting her head up slowly. "Everyone deals with grief in their own way."

Charles didn't reply, but rather allowed his mind to wander- it was his way of mourning. _"She gave you the house and the Xavier wealth," _Pricilla had told him. Those were the last two things existing of his parents; other than him. The last time he had stepped foot on that property was when he and Aila had went to invite Esmeralda to their wedding- which she later declined, claiming she was 'too ill to attend'. Charles quickly tossed the memory to the side, deciding he should look at the small good Esmeralda had done, rather than the abundant bad. The image of the Xavier mansion still lingered in his thoughts, reminding him of every memory he can recall that occurred within that house. The only images that stuck though were ones of laughter and smiles. As he looked back, Charles realized that the house he had never called home was actually much more than that. It was a large chest that held every memory he had since forgotten or replaced with ones of darker origins. Charles recognized now, that the house of horrors was actually a home of memories he desperately craved to remember.

"Aila," Charles said suddenly, "I want to move into the mansion." He saw the bewildered expression on Aila's face, so continued, "My mother left it to me in her will. That and all of the money: it's perfect."

"What?" Aila said quietly, trying to figure out how to reply. She knew Charles was delusional with the shock of his mother's death, but she also did not want to commit to something they would both later regret when Charles was back to normal. "Charles, no. We can't move- not now. I have my job at the school, and you start student teaching at Johns Hopkins soon. I know you're disheartened by your mother's death, but we can't move because of that. Our lives are here, Charles, in Annapolis."

"There are high schools in New York though, that would be lucky to have you, and there are many universities close by I could teach at. Aila, this could work."

"No, no, no- it won't work. We have our jobs and lives here. And what about Raven? She's finally settled in Baltimore, and happy. It's too much of a risk moving to Westchester, Charles. I know it holds memories, but can't we simply visit? You're not thinking straight, and this is a very loaded decision we would have to make."

"And here I naively thought you would be supportive of this," Charles replied numbly. He knew it was a crazy idea, but he needed this. He had to make atonement with his past, and how would he be able to do that if he kept hiding from it? Annapolis embodied everything his childhood wasn't, and Charles had chosen it because of its very few similarities with Westchester. But now, he was strong enough and desperate enough to finally face his past and all of the memories that came along with it.

"I support you, Charles, I just cannot support this." Aila inwardly sighed, and realized how awful she was being. She still would not take back what she said though: Annapolis was their home, and they couldn't change that on a whim.

"Brilliant," Charles drawled. He realized he was being the one thing he had sworn to never be: like his family. Short sentences with a harsh undertone that no one could ever deny not hearing, and stubbornness so strong it suffocated whoever tried to oppose them. It was too late to take back what he said and return to the Charles he was proud of, and the bitterness of Aila shooting down his plea from stage one was still growing in his heart.

"Charles," Aila replied. It came out as a blend between a scold and an apology hidden behind the weak speaking of a name. She saw the coldness in his eyes, and felt herself beginning to twist her wedding ring nervously around her finger. Charles was not an easy man to figure out, and she was finally feeling the full wrath of that truth.

"Don't." Charles sighed, "I'm going to get some air." Charles felt Aila contemplating if she should ask to come as he got up from his seat, so Charles added an "alone," then continued out the door. Once outside, he sighed, and then continued on his way down the street headed for the bar down the road.

* * *

><p><em>Fado Irish Pub, Annapolis <em>

"Scotch," Charles requested as he sat on the barstool. The bartender nodded, and went under the counter for a glass and the whiskey. Putting the glass in front of Charles, the bartender filled it and Charles Xavier replied with a "thank you". Swirling the Scotch in the tumbler a few times, he finally put it to his lips, downing it. The biting edge of the Scotch took its full effect, going down Charles's throat with a burn that could easily cause an unpracticed Scotch drinker to choke. The bitterness disappeared moments later, leaving the oddly satisfying taste the alcohol left on his tongue and the feel it gave his throat. Charles raised a hand lazily signaling he desired another.

"Charles Xavier?" He heard a woman ask next to him. He felt her emotion of excitement seep into him.

"Depends on who's asking," Charles replied, the bartender placing the new drink on the counter as he spoke. Charles again began to swirl the alcohol around. He knew it was unwise and unlike him to get drunk, but it was so goddamn tempting.

"Moira MacTaggert," the woman replied, her voice full of formality which was exceedingly unneeded in an environment such as a bar. Charles turned to face her, and was surprised at how attractive she was. Alluring dark eyes paired so nicely with chocolate colored hair and pale skin. She gave a smile, holding out her hand. Charles could sense she thought him attractive as well, and took hold of her hand, shaking it softly. Moira's face faltered slightly when she felt the coolness of the ring that was placed on Charles's left ring finger, but quickly recovered, and Charles let go of her hand. Moira sat down beside Charles slowly.

"Well, Ms. MacTaggert, what can I do for you?" Charles tried to be the polite man he had always prided himself in being, but found his voice falling flat. He could feel the coldness of his emotions and the vacancy creeping into his eyes, and he was powerless to stop it. His mother had just passed away, his wife was angry with him, and he was here at a bar, drinking Scotch, speaking to a woman with a last name of MacTaggert. _MacTaggert? _Charles thought, trying to keep his dry chuckle solely in his head.

"You study genetic mutations, correct?" Both Moira and Charles knew the answer was yes, but Moira still thought it more polite to ask.

"Yes, I do."

"You said in a medical journal that you believe at some point- certain… odd types of mutations will occur. I was wondering if you think that they already have." Moira stared at Charles, trying desperately not to stare too deeply into his blue eyes. The man was married- she couldn't flirt with him even if she wanted to.

"I believe, Ms. MacTaggert, that you already possess your answer to that question." Charles gave a small smile that could easily be mistaken as a smirk, so Charles left it up to Moira's imagination to which it would be.

"Excuse me?" Moira replied, raising an eyebrow.

"_The answer is yes, but you already knew that. What is the real reason why you approached me?"_ Charles knew he could easily read Moira's mind to figure out the truth, but he figured it better not to get too in the habit of finding answers with such ease.

"How did you- you're… you're one of them."

"It would be much appreciated if you could specify who 'they' are." Charles gave an amused smile- well, as much of a smile his emotions would allow him for. He knocked back the Scotch that was on the table, awaiting Moira's reply.

"Mutant," Moira finally whispered.

"Yes. Now why did you approach me?"

"A man by the name of Sebastian Shaw: I have a solid reason to believe he is working with the Soviets and has a group of mutants helping him. You can help us though, with this- situation."

"Us?" Charles raised an eyebrow. The situation was an interesting one, and Charles couldn't help but be intrigued by it. His attention though, kept slipping away though, and his mind got caught up with the current problems in his life. Charles tapped his pointer finger on the counter, trying anything, every little thing, to try to escape the problems waiting for him at home like a predator stalking its prey.

"Yes, the CIA. Anything involving the Soviets isn't taken lightly these days. Who knows when the day might come where we start a nuclear war that would make the world wars look like a child's game? "

"Paranoia certainly isn't running thin in this country," Charles replied, still lightly tapping his finger on the counter. At the moment, thoughts of the true war to end all wars- and possibly humanity sounded more appealing than thoughts of Aila and Esmeralda.

"No, but trust is." Moira replied. Charles gave a nod. "So, will you help us, Mr. Xavier?"

"To the best of my ability."

* * *

><p><em>Miami, Florida<em>

Aila sat on the deck of the _Loyola _which was carrying her, Charles, Raven, and a handful of CIA agents to the coordinates where Sebastian Shaw supposedly was. Ail a crossed her arms, preferring to be moving to New York than be in this situation. Charles had come home from the bar those four days ago, telling her they had to pack and get Raven- they were headed for Langley. In the car ride, Charles had told the details of the situation to the girls. Raven couldn't have been happier- excitement had found its way into her life once more. Aila, though, wasn't so pleased. With hubbub about Shaw and the Soviets, she and Charles still hadn't gotten a chance to talk about what had transpired on the day Charles's mother died. Aila wanted to simply forgive him, but he had acted so cold, that she found it quite impossible to do so.

"You know you have to forgive him at some point," Raven said next to her. Aila turned to look at her sister-in-law and gave a small nod.

"I know. I want to, but he's just so- confusing. I love him sometimes, and then feel as if I hate him the next second." Aila shook her head, sighing. She still found it odd having someone else giving her advice rather than vice versa. It felt nice not having all of the answers for once.

"Join the club, Aila. That's just Charles. He's good though- you know that. He would never intentionally do something to hurt anybody. Especially the ones he loves." Raven gave a supportive smile to Aila. Though her and Aila's relationship had gotten much better over the years, a small part of her still felt pride in knowing more about Charles than even his own wife did.

"I know you're right. But he hasn't forgiven me either, though. I really messed things up, this time I'm afraid. "

"It's your relationship with him, just at least try to forgive him." Raven patted Aila's shoulder, then got up and walked to where Moira and Charles were, in the front of the boat.

"This is where the coordinates said he should be," Moira said, having to raise her voice to speak over the engine of the boat. Charles nodded, putting a finger to his temple.

"I can sense him, but there is another telepath on board. If I try to enter any of their minds, she'll know." Moira sighed at Charles's words, and they both returned their attention to the yacht only a few yards away. Suddenly, they saw one of the chains of the anchor flying in the air, wrapping around the yacht. Charles, Moira, Raven, and Aila all held their breaths.

The chains continued to be flung around the boat until it was bound so tightly it began to crack. Charles could feel the raging emotions of pain and revenge radiating from a man, but where? Charles scanned the waters, and found not only the enraged man, but also the source of the destruction of Shaw's yacht.

"The yacht!" Moira cried, "The chain-" Moira didn't know where to begin. The anchor chains that had seemingly come to life? Or the fact that the boat that held Shaw and possibly many documents of interest was being crushed into a nothingness floating in the water. There was a sudden stillness, and then the man operating the chains went under water. Charles knew what he was going to attempt, and could not allow that to happen.

"Someone needs to fetch him! He can help us." The CIA mumbled to each other at Charles's words, none of them seeming to be fervently volunteering for the job.

"Christ," Charles muttered and then jumped over the railing and into the cold water of the Atlantic.

"Charles!" Aila screamed, leaning for over the ship, but her cry wasn't heard, because Charles submerged himself in the water.

"_You cannot do this," _Charles told the man who was frantically reaching out his hand in a feeble, yet dumbly valiant, attempt at pulling the submarine to the surface of the water. When the metal controlling mutant heard Charles in his head, he began to thrash in the water out of shock.

"_Erik, stop; you're only drowning yourself," _Charles tried again, encircling Erik's midsection with his arms, beginning to kick them to the surface.

"Why did you do that?" Erik questioned forcefully, the rage swirling in his eyes like a tornado on the verge of destroying an innocent town.

"You were going to die!" Charles replied with equal force, staring at Erik sternly. They were still treading in the shallow of the Atlantic, the entire _Loyola _staring at the two.

"Geh zur Hölle," Erik muttered in return. "I did not ask for your help."

"But you needed it," Charles shot back in return.

* * *

><p>"Here's a blanket for both of you," Aila said to Charles and Erik, handing each a light blue blanket. "Charles," she then addressed, "can we-"<p>

"Charles," Moira yelled from down the way, "can you come here for a minute?" Charles looked at Aila, a flash of guilt and apology in his eyes, that he thanked god Aila caught.

"Watch him," Charles gestured to Erik, and then began to walk to Moira.

"Ouch," Erik drawled, taking a seat on the bench opposite from where Aila was standing. Aila Xavier glared at Erik Lensherr in return, and then sat down on the bench next to him. There was no way Aila could deny Erik's good looks: his strong build and sharp features; his steel blue eyes that weren't as cold as he tried to make them be, and the dark wet hair, so perfectly imperfect.

"You don't have to sit here," Erik told her monotonously. Aila knew he really meant _"fuck off"_. She shook her head.

"You just tried to pull a submarine out of the water- I'm not going anywhere."

"What if I insisted," Erik replied, raising an eyebrow. He was in no mood for company. He had just failed his one life's mission, and had witnessed years of conspiring and building anger fall to ashes right in front of his experienced eyes.

"What if _I _insisted?" Aila replied in return. She could see him subconsciously hiding the number that was forever engraved in his forearm and sighed. The man sitting beside her had seen horrors and atrocities no man should ever have to endure; especially at the young age he had. Aila momentarily considered bringing it up, but figured it best not to.

"If you insist," Erik replied, leaning his head against the wall. His face was an emotionless mask that couldn't be removed, and Aila realized Erik Lensherr did not want anyone knowing his emotions- even himself in some cases.

"Why'd you do it?" Aila asked, averting her gaze to the ground.

"It needed to be done," came Erik's numb reply, and he turned to face Aila. The woman's elegant waves of flaxen hair fell perfectly around her face to accentuate her profile, and Erik couldn't help but marvel at the sight. She was a sculpture so delicately created; even Michelangelo would roll in his grave with envy if he knew of Aila's beauty.

"Revenge doesn't solve problems," Aila replied.

"I never said I did it to solve anything." Erik was a tough surface to break, even for Aila. But the blond was always up for a challenge.

"Then what did you set out to do?"

"Exterminate the problem," Erik replied, emotion finally finding its way onto his face. A smirk curled on his lips and his eyes began to sparkle with mischievous conspiring.

"Ah, yes, because that does such good." Aila knew Erik picked up on her implication that Mr. Lensherr was a contradiction within himself. He himself had been a victim of a man trying to 'exterminate a problem'.

"Who's to say it doesn't?"

"I was simply observing," Aila said with a shrug of her shoulders.

"Well I see you're having issues with your marriage," Erik said with a smirk.

"Who's to say I am!" Aila replied defensively, beginning to twist her ring.

"I was simply observing," Erik mocked in return, then returned his gaze to the white wall opposite him.

"You're an asshole," Aila muttered.

"You're a nosy nuisance," Erik shot back at her. Both Lensherr and Xavier sat stiffly on the bench after that, arms crossed, refusing to lift their eyes from their designated area for staring.

* * *

><p>Alright, so I do apologize for this chapter being all over the place, but hopefully it was still enjoyable. Well, this being my first time ever writing Erik Lensherr, and for the purposes of the story, slightly changing his personality, please be kind when reviewing how I wrote Erik. <em>Again, thank you to all of those who have reviewed, favorited, and subscribed to this story. It means the world to me! <em>

**Remember, reviews are love, people!**


	5. Chapter 5

_Loyola- Miami, Florida _

Aila sat motionless on the upper deck of the _Loyola_, which was en route to a small airport where a private plane was awaiting their arrival. The wind whipped her blonde hair until it was a straggled mess that clung dearly to the memory of its once beautiful waves, and she sighed. Aila didn't know what was wrong with her; she had no true, definable emotions- not even a single clue. The epic battle between love and hate was lost to her, and to be quite honest, she did not care who had won the fight. The question of whether to laugh or to cry became pointless in her eyes. No feeling would stick to her long enough for Aila to identify it, other than the taunting anxiety of failing to feel her own emotions. Life was happening too quickly for her, Aila figured, and decided that was the excuse she'd provide her whirling mind in an attempt to make it hush. It was true though- life was moving uneasily quickly for Aila. Only days ago, was she comfortably at home with a steady job and a husband swiftly on his way to earning one as well. Life was at a content routine, and that was pleasantly agreeable with Aila. But she should have known it was too good to last. Her mother-in-law's death soon followed, accompanied by an out of mind Charles. From that point on, days had begun to tumble down a hill, picking up speed with every inch they covered. Aila Xavier felt herself spinning out of control heading right for a cliff edge, with no one there to stop her.

"Hey," Raven greeted quietly, as she sat down next to the unstable telepath. Aila felt her body tighten. It was odd to have that reflex now. Over the past two years, Aila and Raven had become close friends over similar interests- the most prominent being Charles. Why, now, that Aila was tensing at the presence of her friend, she was unsure of. Raven was presenting no threat, and Aila could sense Raven's intentions were kind hearted. But Aila still felt herself receding back into old habits.

"Hi," Aila returned vacantly.

"Aila," Raven sighed, "you still haven't apologized to Charles."

"I tried to," Aila replied with a shake of the head, "but he decided whatever Moira had to say was much more important, and left me with Erik." Aila's lips formed a tight line. She hated that what she had said was true. It was so unlike Charles to act in such a foul manner, but Aila supposed even gods have to fall from grace on occasion.

"On a first name basis, are we?" Raven raised an eyebrow. By simply looking at her face, Aila could not tell if Raven was merely making a joke, or a full on accusation.

"What else would you like me to call him? Mr. Lensherr? Metal Bender? McBendy? That guy from the water? I assure you, Raven, the list can go on." Aila's voice was a monotone even foreign to herself. Charles had a knack for influencing Aila in every way imaginable; one of the many traits of Charles Xavier Aila both loved, and loved to hate.

"Don't have to get all touchy, Cranky," Raven shot back. This conversation was eerily turning into one which belonged in the period before Aila and Charles had married. Raven paused, and then continued, "Aila, I'm sure Charles didn't mean anything by leaving you with Erik. You know him, advocator for the refugee."

Aila shook her head. "If it was that simple, I would certainly understand. But the fact that he walked away from me for Moira- it just- hits me at an odd angle. Not to mention the fact that he left Erik without so much as a comforting smile… there's something off." Aila began to twist her wedding ring, with a numb hope that maybe it would provide an answer; bring a spark back into her relationship with Charles.

"Aila, he just lost his mother. As estranged as they were, it is still his _mother _who will be buried six feet under." Raven stared at Aila. "You already understand that, though; so what's really bothering you?"

Aila paused for a second, choosing her next words carefully. She wasn't quite sure how to form her reasoning, and if she didn't know, she certainly couldn't expect Raven to understand. "I don't know why I fought him on the topic of moving into the mansion. I was completely unfair to Charles, and he is genuinely angry with me."

"You read his mind?" Raven had learned of Charles and Aila's pact not to read each other's thoughts, and had become the designated peacekeeper when it came to issues involving the pact.

"It's the fact that I cannot read it that tells me his is angry. He's usually an open book for me; willing to tell me anything. But it's as if now, he has some barrier up that I can't break." Aila paused. "Oh, Raven, I don't know. I feel like we're falling apart, and I'm crumbling along with it. Charles seems-"

"Different? Yeah, I know. He hides his pain behind his calm demeanor, but sometimes, he lets it fall."

"How is it that I still feel like I don't even know him? Right now, he seems like a stranger to me." Aila shook her head slowly. Raven couldn't allow Aila to be thinking such things. She had grown too close to Aila to allow her and Charles to reach this low point.

"You're just being paranoid. You and Charles have fought before; but you've always made up…"

"Yes, but this seems different. Charles and I are so alike, Raven. And with that familiarity, I know that what I did to him could be considered unforgivable. I broke some of the most important virtues: loyalty, trust, compassion, and selflessness. My parents taught me that those, along with love, were the traits I should always strive to have; and if I did not acquire them, ask myself why, and change that answer so that I did. I feel like I've betrayed him." Aila bit her lip, unsure if she was going to cry or not. Speaking with Raven made her see just how awful she had been to Charles, and she was not sure she could look him in the eye after this realization.

"Unlike you and Charles," Raven began, "I'm not a natural therapist. The only way you're going to get any real answers is by talking to him."

"Yes, you are right. I just have to go- and um, talk to him…" the unease in Aila's face was undeniable.

* * *

><p>"I don't think we have had the pleasure of meeting," Charles stated as he sat across from Erik Lensherr. "I am Charles Xavier." He finished with a kind smile. No response came from Erik, but Charles knew it was smarter not to pester him on the subject.<p>

"How did you do that earlier? Enter my thoughts?" Erik looked at the Englishman sitting across from him. His face had no signs of a hard life: his skin was perfectly smooth, as if no one had ever laid a hand on the delicate tissue. His posture was straight, showing no signs of him or his pride being smothered into the ground. The man was a goddamned lucky one.

"I thank you for your comments on my skin and posture, Erik. Though, it is quite difficult to define a man just by his appearance." Charles raised an eyebrow at the German. The difference in appearance between the two men was something Charles could not ignore, no matter how hard he tried. Erik's skin was creased with years of worry and pain, some marks Charles could tell, had been inflicted by others. Erik, though menacingly powerful, had a slouch in the way he sat, exposing the reality of a brutalized and terrified boy that still hides behind the taut muscle and leather. "I am a telepath," Charles then added.

Erik looked at Charles questioningly, deciding if it was safe to reveal a tad of weakness to him. The Englishman's blue eyes quietly soothed Erik, as if calling almost like a lullaby, _it's alright, Erik. You're safe._ There was something about Charles that achingly reminded him of his mother. Erik looked at the man before him, feeling his strict defenses begin to tumble down heavily; his mother had always been Erik's weakness, and Charles was no exception to that. "I thought I was alone," Erik finally replied quietly, but the dominating power still weaved its way through the soft undertone.

"You're not alone. Erik, you're not alone." A smile tugged at Charles's mouth. Erik Lensherr was a type of man Charles had little experience with. Of course he could feel the raging pain and hidden fear, but Erik still posed as a mystery to Charles; a challenge the telepath accepted in a heartbeat. "I imagine this situation is not easy for you. I know what the man in the yacht meant to you- but he means something to me as well."

"What could he possibly be to you?" It was all Erik could do not to spit at Charles. How dare the telepath put his relationship with Shaw on the same level as his own? Erik supposed that Charles had never even met the man; Erik was too well acquainted for anyone's comfort.

"A threat; not only to me, but to everyone. Agent MacTaggert has reason to believe he is in some sort of alliance with the Soviet Union."

"Shaw picks the side he is sure will win. I would not doubt if he is," Erik replied numbly. Charles Xavier was a do-gooder; something Erik had never had a particular talent in. He knew if he stayed with Xavier it would be the path of most resistance- they were far from being on the same page.

"The question we should be asking though is why. What business does Shaw have with the Soviets?"

"I would imagine he is pushing Khrushchev as far as he possibly can; whatever Shaw wants, you can bet Khrushchev is only a puppet." Erik's eyes noticeably darkened at all of this talk of Sebastian Shaw, and Charles could not blame the man; Erik had been to hell and back, with Shaw leading the way.

"Stay with us, Erik. Help us find Shaw." Erik nodded in return to Charles, a hint of a smirk crawling onto his lips. Charles replied with a genuine smile, his blue eyes glistening. Moments later, there came a knock at the door.

"Charles," Aila began, "I was hoping we could talk." She glanced at Erik, "alone." Erik turned to Charles, and the telepath nodded in return. With the okay, Erik rose from his seat and walked towards the door. Casting a quick glance at Aila, he then closed the door.

Aila turned to Charles, waiting for him to say something. Possibly a _please, sit. _Or maybe even a _what's on your mind, darling? _Even a little gesture of a welcome would ease Aila's mind, but no such movement was given. At the coldness of her husband, Aila cleared her throat and took Erik's seat.

"Charles, I'm sorry. I was wrong to act the way I did earlier. I wasn't being supportive of you." Aila looked at Charles, but still little emotion appeared on his face. She sighed. "You've always trusted my judgment and my crazy endeavors, and I wronged you in not doing the same."

"I would not want your support if it wasn't genuine. It is not an 'I'll do it for you, if you do it for me', Aila. Would I have liked to have seen a little more trust and sympathy? Of course. But I have no desire for it if you do not truly put your faith in me." Charles's barrier was still upholding strongly, and Aila had no chance of penetrating it.

"I was selfish, Charles. I know. But you have to understand where I am coming from. Remember last December when I was convinced we should move to Georgia to escape the snow? You shot me down right away, but rightfully so. It was a totally illogical thought. Our life is in Annapolis; not Georgia, not Westchester."

"If this is meant to be an attempt at forgiveness, you are beginning to stray from the path," Charles replied. In his head Charles knew very well that Aila was right- it was utter stupidity to move. Aila was very successful as a guidance counselor- the job fit her personality like a major and a minor chord forming lovely harmony. He himself had a student teaching job lined up and ready to begin at Johns Hopkins University. But for some odd reason, that was not enough to persuade Charles to stay in Annapolis. His heart begged him to return home; face the memories he's been hiding from, and turn a nightmare into a fantasy.

"Okay, point taken. Look, we're not meant to agree on every issue. But as for the idea of moving, we both have to be of the same opinion; and we most certainly are not."

"You have barely even considered the idea." Charles saw Aila about to speak, so he continued, "I understand fully Aila, where you're coming from, but it still does not give you the privilege to discard the idea so hastily. As you recall, two springs ago, you had your heart set on planting a garden in the backyard. Right away I told you that it was not a smart investment, especially with a hot summer just around the corner. But then I thought more of the issue, and realized that it could turn out splendid; and it did- and still does. I trusted you and gave it consideration; you have done neither for this situation. That is what irks me, Aila."

"I'm sorry, Charles," Aila replied softly, placing a hand delicately on top of her husband's. "Give me a few more days to think it over, and then we can decide. The house is not going anywhere." Aila supplied a small smile, praying Charles would return it.

Charles flipped his hand so he could entwine their fingers. With his thumb, he began to stroke the back of Aila's hand. No words had been spoken, but Aila could see the smile grow subtly on Charles's face and the gesture was proof enough that things were beginning to mend between the two of them.

"I love you," Charles whispered quietly.

"I love you too." Aila's tense body finally relaxed, and she breathed deeply. She knew there were still some feelings and facts that Charles had not shared with her, but Aila realized that was part of Charles's allure: the quiet mystery.

* * *

><p>So sorry for the long wait and my apologies for it being so short. Soccer has left me no time to write. Anyway, so this chapter is basically a filler chapter- the next one will have more substance. I have received some reviews saying I did not develop the two years of Charles and Aila's marriage enough or Aila herself. I have decided instead of dedicating a whole chapter to answer all of those questions, there will be flashbacks and references throughout the story, so in your review, please do not pound me too hard if you feel someone is not developed enough; all in good time! Hahaha <span>Please review. The more I receive, the faster the updates. Plus, it only takes a few seconds to review, and hours to write. Thank you so much!<span>

**Remember, reviews are love, people! **


	6. Chapter 6

_Private plane, en route to Virginia _

_The pain is not new. It is the penalty of a torturous life that has brewed a poison of hate and anger for years; spreading that emotional cyanide throughout his body, until there are no ways to expel it, ultimately allowing it to latch onto the heart; never to let go. The pain is never recreated nor destroyed; it had begun to ignite the second he had entered Auschwitz, and hadn't stopped since. When he had stepped into the sinful abyss, the demons he was told of as a child brutally transformed into the horrifying reality of stony soldiers with haunting swastikas displayed proudly on the uneasily strong muscles of their upper arms. There was no law in the spited land other than the menacing dark deeds the Nazi guns could perform, and the certainty that the German captors would gladly pull the trigger for the Aryan dominance their __Führer desired. Innocence was a feeble memory and it was dangerous to even attempt to stay a child- and almost impossible. Hell was no longer a myth or used for the setting of a horror tale; it was their life, with no escape other than death- that seemed merciful compared to their new reality. It had become viciously apparent in their eyes that there was no god- and if there was, he had turned his back to them long ago. _

Erik Lensherr could almost feel the number tattooed on the inside of his forearm seep venomously into the closest vein; the aching memories of his past forever coursing through him and forever noticeable to both Erik and the world. Years pass him by, but never seem any different from the prior one. Anger, misery, and the looming truth that he is utterly alone in the world, are the only things Erik can reach out and almost touch- they are the only certainties powerful enough to nearly appear solid. Erik sat on the plane as if his chair was holding him in some claustrophobic cage. The conversations of the other passengers were passing blurs of reality that Erik couldn't connect with. His one and only reality was that number engraved on his arm out of utter hatred-by his fellow countrymen. Some of the guards he had encountered had lived in neighboring towns of his. How it is that one man's swift and cunning tongue can turn neighbors against one another?

"The public wishes itself to be managed like a woman," Charles answered as he sat in the vacant chair next to Erik. The receiver of the comment looked numbly at the speaker, blank confusion filling his face.

"I beg your pardon?"

"The public would rather it not be spoken to, unless they are to hear what they want to hear. Much like women, is it not?" Charles gave a small smile. He wasn't sure if he was being serious with Erik or attempting to pull him from his deep thoughts.

"Quite so. Is this going to be a recurring theme, Charles? Is no thought safe from your lurking mind?" Erik put his elbow on the armrest next to him, leaning his chin on his hand. Charles's presence was oddly comforting to the normally antisocial Erik. The telepath had no radiating fear of him that Erik could detect, but rather a strong desire to know him on an emotional level other than fear.

"That would depend on what your definition of 'safe' is; and, how nice to me you are on the given day." Charles's creeping smile turned into a grin in the blink of an eye, and Erik's eyes flared with momentary jealousy. Erik was lucky when he smiled at least once a day; but Charles Xavier's smile was so frequent and natural it could be placed into the same category as breathing.

Erik chuckled lightly, "I will have to keep that in mind from now on." Erik's ice blue eyes then dropped Charles's warm sea blue gaze, another round of emotional torture in full swing.

"Your thoughts are plaguing you, Erik. No one deserves such a painful past; and certainly not one they feel cannot escape."

"I can't simply forget them," Erik replied. He always hated how he was the perfect observation rat for psychologists, and Charles was the golden boy of that science. Erik wouldn't be surprised if at some point Charles handed him a piece of cheese for his 'good work' and claimed it was 'very important what he was doing'.

"Of course not. Trying to forget them would be useless; and you'd become your own demise if you succeeded. But the point of the past is to learn from it and move on; dwelling in the darkest parts of your memories is just as destructive as trying to fully forget." Charles knew he was being a contradiction of himself, but if his wise words could help someone, if not himself, it was worth it.

"What would you know of pain and misery?" Erik replied flatly. Even if Charles wasn't a telepath he could have guessed Erik was dodging the bullet of logic. Erik it seemed would rather be in a state of despair than he would a state of repair; all he knew was pain- if he lost that too, Erik Lensherr truly would have nothing.

"I know more about it than you would probably guess."

"Mind sharing, then? It surely isn't fair that you have the freedom to keep your thoughts and past locked safely away while I cannot, wouldn't you say?"

"You make a tough deal, Erik. As much as I love storytelling, right now you are the one who needs help; so let me." Again, Charles had lied. Sometimes he wished that someone else could read his mind and that would be the end of the story. Yes, Aila certainly could but a telepath reading a telepath's mind is like eating peanut butter to get the taste of peanut butter out of one's mouth.

"You want to help me," Erik drawled, "so did Shaw." He took his hand away from his chin, gripping the armrest with full force. He could feel the metal in the aircraft vibrate through his body and he ached to answer its call.

"You couldn't possibly compare me to Shaw," Charles replied darkly. Even Erik could sense the fire brewing deep within the telepath on the verge of sparking to the damaging effects of a forest fire.

"How do I know you're not like him?" Erik's eyes glazed over with the mask of ice. Charles was surprised he had not seen it sooner. Nevertheless, it did not suffice as a reason for Erik to be so judgmental.

"Trust, Erik." Charles replied just as numbly as his companion and matched his icy stare. The once peaceful ocean eyes became as icy as Erik's, and arguably colder.

"Touchy," Erik replied. Charles simply raised an eyebrow in reply. Whenever Charles was angered by something, he was not one to fight it out. For so long he had kept in his true emotions, so now, to actually express them would have a darker effect than if he kept to himself. Obviously Charles was maddened by Erik's accusation just on principal, but to him, Sebastian Shaw seemed eerily like his mother in some regards. Both raped resources and trust until neither remained, or until satisfied. Both Shaw and Esmeralda knew no bounds, and did not see mercy as a right. Not to mention Charles's mother was already a very hot and sensitive topic- even if only by vague reference.

"Look, I know you've lived a tough life; but in some way or another, so has the rest of the world."

"Doesn't mean they can understand my strife," Erik replied.

"Obviously, Erik. That is why we have this brilliant thing called conversation. I am willing to listen and help. Why would you waste someone who is offering to be your ally?"

"That question does not have a simple response."

"Well, then what is the complicated one?" Charles raised an eyebrow.

"It's too complicated for words to attempt to describe." Erik replied stiffly.

* * *

><p>"I wonder what they're talking about," Moira asked slowly, leaning to her left in hopes of hearing the conversation better. Aila shook her head ever so slightly in annoyance, and Raven smirked at her sister-in-law.<p>

_What? _Aila questioned.

_Nothing….._ Came Raven's reply, _I just sense a catfight on the horizon. _

_Very funny, Raven. But to have a catfight, you need to have something to fight over. _That's a lie, Aila thought to herself.

_Right, of course, because there's totally not some tensions between you two over a certain Englishman. _

_Even if there was, I've already won. _Aila gave a small smile and subtly pointed to her wedding band.

_You're such a kid sometimes. _

_Even adults like to win things sometimes and boast. _

_I'm just saying, Moira could be a threat. _

_I love your support here, Raven; it's really uplifting. You certainly do know the right thing to say, _Aila replied sarcastically, her green eyes locking with Raven's.

_I speak the truth, dear friend. _

"What are you two doing?" Moira asked, gliding her pointer finger between the space of the blondes' stare.

"Staring contest," Raven mumbled blandly. "Wanna join?"

"Oh, no, that's alright." Moira returned her attention to the men sitting on the other side of the airplane.

_Of course she doesn't want to, _Aila mumbled to herself, _she already has a one-way staring contest with my husband. _She would never admit it to Raven, or anyone for that matter, but she did feel threatened by Moira MacTaggert. The way her dark straight hair framed her heart-shaped face was enough of have any girl wanting to claw her face because of that perfection. Moira's caramel eyes were so sweet and caring, but the flare of lust and sex appeal that flaunted their undeniable appeal was enough to make any other female creature walking this earth want to punch Moira just so her eyes would close and not catch the gaze of their man.

"Does anyone know when we're going to land? This seat is no longer a friend to my ass," Raven said to break the girls' silence. Aila closed her eyes for a moment and then quickly replied,

"Twenty more minutes. I'm sure your ass will be okay."

"If it's not, I'm blaming you."

* * *

><p>"Erik, Shaw has friends. You could do with some as well." Charles kept Erik's gaze, despite the fact he could sense Moira walking over to them. When she approached, both men looked up at her.<p>

"Am I interrupting something?"

"No," Erik said slyly, "we were just finished." He gave a smirk to Erik and rose from his seat, gesturing for Moira to take it. MacTaggert smiled brightly in response and filled Erik's vacant seat. Erik spotted a seat in an isolated area, but then noticed the open seat next to Aila- the latter option appealed much more.

"What are you doing?" Aila asked irritated, as Erik sat next to her.

"You're a smart girl; I think you can figure it out. It's a very simple topic: sitting. Should I explain further? Or have you grasped the concept?" Erik smirked.

"Whatever," Aila replied, and leaned over Erik to get a better view of Charles and Moira. "If you're going to sit here, would you at least trade seats with me?"

"So you can get a better view of Moira hitting on Charles? Someone doesn't trust their husband," Erik taunted in return.

"No, this someone doesn't trust the woman talking to her husband. Please, move." Aila wasted no time in allowing Erik to gingerly stand up; she pushed him from the seat, and slid into it with ease. Aila was pleased that Raven had chosen to excuse herself moments before this event. Erik mumbled something in German in return, and began to walk past Aila to take his new seat, when Aila caught his arm.

"I am not a crazed pushy bitch," Aila paused, "contrary to what just happened."

"How did you-"

"My father was from Germany."

"A mind reader who speaks German," Erik mused as he sat down, "that's a deadly combination to a man like me."

"Only if you make it one. If you don't, we could have a lot of fun." Erik just smirked at Aila's remark.

"No-" she said quickly, "not _that _sort of fun."

"Whatever you say, dear." The way the word 'dear' rolled off of Erik's tongue sent shivers down Aila's spine. She had to admit, he was quite the sex icon, and his hands could probably do wonders to her body only gods could experience. She could feel his tight muscles through his black long-sleeved shirt hit her shoulder, and her nerves craved for that physique to totally take her over and ravish her until the point where she could swear she saw god. Aila imagined that since Erik was not one to let emotion show through speech, those intense feelings would seep gorgeously into the bedroom.

Wait. No, this couldn't happen. These thoughts could and should not run through her head. Aila was already married to an equally sexy man with a genuine personality to heighten that sex appeal even farther. No, Aila Xavier certainly wasn't imagining Erik Lensherr in such graphically gratifying ways; but she was. Even if no one else knew, she did- and that was enough to make her sick.

* * *

><p>Once again, I'm so sorry for the long break between updates! Soccer keeps me so busy; but still stay with me, because I promise I will update! Haha, anyways, about this chapter, I honestly have no words. I'm sorry it's so short. I hate writing short chapters, but I don't have as much time to dedicate to this story as I'd like to. Oh, I keep promising that the next chapter will be more exciting, but for some reason, I always resort back to feelings and relationships. I suppose it's because that's what I remember most from the movie. But, since this does follow the basic plot of X-Men: First Class, there certainly will be action. But all in good time. Anyways, it would be really lovely and appreciated if you'd review. Thank you dearly!<p>

**Remember, reviews are love, people!**


	7. Chapter 7

_Covert CIA Base, Virginia_

"So what are we now, Suit? The CIA's new Division X?" Erik asked blandly as they exited the vehicle and headed toward the entrance of the building. Its large rectangular form held no beauty for Erik- he hated this modern architecture that was slowly but surely replacing the magnificent wonders of years past. Not just the building's appearance made Erik shutter; he knew whatever lied behind those doors would be like a dagger to his heart. Large organizations could never fully be trusted in Erik's eyes; there was always one person that had- different ways of conducting their job, and he was sure Suit was that type of man. Behind the innocent mask of glasses and chubby cheeks probably lied a sinister poison just waiting to contaminate Suit's newfound guests.

"Something like that," Suit replied with a nod. It almost made Erik chuckle aloud at how friendly the CIA agent was towards him- if only the man knew what thoughts were going through Erik's head.

"You can call me Carl, by the way," the CIA agent continued with a smile, and the German gave a nonchalant nod of his head. Erik then turned his attention to Aila whose hand lightly kept touching Charles's. She loved him more than Erik could ever possibly grasp, and that sat quite distastefully with him. Though he had just met the woman, there was something captivating about Aila. It wasn't prominent in her looks, or obvious in the way she composed herself. No, this indefinable flare was hidden far past the skin, landing itself in her bones; her core; her very structure. It penetrated through the form of Aila that was visible to the world, and glimmered around her like a transparent halo. Erik wished he could pinpoint what exactly made Aila stand out from Moira and Raven; it might calm his reeling mind and make this petty crush fade. As his deep thoughts crisscrossed their way throughout his mind, he was reminded that he was in the presence of two telepaths. If they were to read his thoughts, life would become even harder for Erik, and he had no desire for that.

"Unless I all of a sudden needed glasses, I would guess you were staring at Aila; or is the bush beside her really _that _appealing?" Raven asked as she approached Erik. She matched Erik's quickening stride, much to his dismay, and he knew he had no chance of escaping this.

"If you have your wellbeing at the top of your priorities, you'll know to let this topic rest," Erik replied tightly.

"I asked a simple question, Erik. I'm not accusing you of anything," Raven returned, keeping her voice level.

"Even so, let it be, Raven. My personal life is no business of yours, unless the rules of society have so suddenly changed," Erik answered the young blonde, echoing Raven's earlier sarcasm.

"It's my business when it involves the happiness of my brother. Don't try anything with Aila, Erik."

"Are you threatening me?" Erik asked, a chuckle seeping through his lips.

"See it as a threat, warning, friendly suggestion- just don't pursue her."

"This is not a very pleasant way to talk to someone you have just met."

"Your first impression of me really holds no significance for me, Erik." Raven knew that was a lie. She cared what everyone thought of her. She was already set aside from the rest of society by her mutation; she didn't also want to be marked for her personality. But as much as she did not want to admit it, she'd sacrifice Erik's impression of her to help Charles- she owned him that much at least. As she glanced at the telepath, she saw how despite their troubles, Aila always brought some of the darkness that possessed Charles to light. She brought the wandering traveler back to her and to solid ground- which was one thing Raven could never do for her brother.

* * *

><p>"So you truly believe this is a good idea?" Aila asked, lifting her emerald eyes to meet Charles's sea blue.<p>

"Is what a good idea, darling?" Charles asked; his voice slightly distant. But it had been so long since he had addressed Aila as 'darling' that she didn't care if Charles's mind was in the stratosphere.

"This whole operation: the CIA, finding other mutants… fighting." Aila whispered the last word. She couldn't possibly imagine what it would be like to lose Charles- but going up against Sebastian Shaw made that vision a bit clearer.

Charles slowed his pace to a halt and looked at Aila carefully, "Of course it is. We are the only ones capable of defeating Shaw." The telepath studied his wife's face, and knew that was not the part of the mission that taunted her thoughts. "Aila, you know if I had the choice to win wars with words I would."

"I know you would, Charles. But if fighting ensues," Aila shook her head. She didn't want to think about what would happen if Charles was injured or even possibly killed.

"If fighting ensues, I'll fight," Charles paused, "Darling, let us not worry about scenarios which may not even occur. For right now, I'm here, you're here, and we're safe. There's no battle, no danger."

He had called her 'darling' again. She gave him a small smile and nodded. "Of course. You're right. I just can't seem to get the thought from my mind."

"Aila, the future will unfold the way it was meant to. If you live too much in an experience that has not yet happened, you would be doing an injustice to your present. Calm your mind." Charles smiled tenderly at her. It warmed him inside to know she still cared for him despite the rough rocks they had just hit.

"Thank you," she whispered and leaned her head on him. Charles replied with wrapping an arm around her waist and holding her in closer to him. Kissing her on the top of the head, he was reminded once more of just how lucky he was to have Aila. Charles began to walk once more when he realized he and Aila were the only two left outside. The couple quickly made their way to the door and entered to find the rest of the group waiting for them.

"Finally," Raven said with a small smile. It actually relieved the shape-shifter that Charles and Aila been late. It meant that they were finally back to normal, and the rising tensions had faded. She knew not how long this peace would last, but for the sake of her and the couple's happiness, she hoped it would stay a while.

"Yes," Moira added, "we were beginning to wonder if something had happened to you." Aila saw how Moira looked only at Charles as she spoke, and how the flirtatious flare in her eyes seemed to reach out to Charles, attempting to pull him in to her.

"Sorry to disappoint," Aila deadpanned in return, her stare dark and icy. A look of distaste flashed across Moira's features, but vanished when she saw Charles's mouth open to speak.

"Well, shall we take a look around?"

* * *

><p>"And down here is where most of the magic happens," Carl explained as the group entered the large room. "This is Hank McCoy, the wizard behind it all. He was a Harvard grad at the age of 16 and has been working for us ever since." Hank gave a small wave to the group then pushed his glasses up his nose with his pointer finger.<p>

"What a pleasure," Charles said as he approached the young genius, shaking Hank's hand with a smile. "And that's not all your mutation consists of; brilliant." The bit of pigment that was in Hank's skin drained from his face, and he looked stunned at Charles and the group behind him. "Oh, I am so sorry," Charles then added, "I didn't know." He supplied the youngster with a sympathetic smile, and then stepped back slightly.

"Hank, you're one too? Why did you never mention it?" Carl asked, tilting his head.

"You never asked," Hank replied shyly.

"Well what else can you do?" Carl replied.

"It's really not that much," Hank mumbled, pushing his glasses back up his nose once more. He had always been insecure about his mutation, and putting it in the limelight was not appealing to Hank.

"He's being modest," Charles added, and gave an encouraging smile to Hank. The small gesture reassured Hank that there was nothing to fear- there were only allies around. So Hank quickly removed his shoes and then hesitated. If he took his socks off, everyone would be exposed to the secret he had been hiding for so long.

"_It's alright, Hank. Have pride," _Charles whispered in Hank's head, and he then began to remove his socks. Peeling the white fabric from his feet, their beastly mutation was shown to the world.

"Splendid," said Charles with a smile.

"Watch this," Hank replied, his confidence rising. He jumped into the air, and his feet grabbed onto a strip of metal that hung low from the plane he had been working on. Raven stared at the boy in awe. Finally, she had found someone else whose mutation was external as well. It comforted her to know she was no longer the only one. She then began to approach Hank with a smile.

"You're amazing," she told him when she stopped in front of him. Their noses almost touched, and their hot breath grazed the other's skin. It sent a shiver down Hank's spine, and he nervously smiled. Never in his life had a beauty, such as this blonde, spoken to him without a look of disgust or an ulterior motive.

"Thank you," he returned shakily, the blood rushing to his head.

* * *

><p>Night slowly fell upon the covert base and a fog was beginning to set around the area. The sky was freckling with the shining speckles of stars and the soft night air was filled with the symphony of the wildlife surrounding the base. The magnificent trees sunk into the setting darkness and the world was quiet. Erik had always hated the night. Its eerie whispers and moans always reminded Erik of the lost souls he had witnessed in the Holocaust; the mumbled sounds of night were their calls to Erik questioning why he had lived and they had perished. For many years he had tried to find an answer- to be able to respond the supernatural beings in hopes that they would then leave him in peace. Nighttime had always seemed to suffocate Erik and keep him from freedom. The dark cover of night enveloped him in his own misery, and it had become so embedded him his skin that the shadows remained even in the light of day. Erik sighed deeply, and shoved the door open and headed into his earliest foe.<p>

"Based on what I know about you, I'm surprised you stayed this long," Charles said as Erik walked away. At the telepath's words, Erik stopped and slowly faced the speaker.

"What do you really know about me?" Erik said flatly. It made no difference if Charles was a telepath- Erik had many deep thoughts and secrets; it would take even a telepath a while to figure him out fully.

"Everything," Charles replied.

"Well, if you do know everything, then you should be well aware that you should stay out of my thoughts."

"I don't understand why you resist so strongly. I pose no threat to you, Erik. If my intention had been to hurt or exploit you, I would have done so already. As strong as you think your lack of trust makes you, in this case, it's only hurting you."

"How do you figure that," Erik replied blandly. He wanted to trust Charles; he truly did. But his past would not allow him the luxury of trust.

"Shaw has friends. I've told you this. He has allies. No matter how strong you are, Erik, he outnumbers you. You cannot expect to fight fire with only one bucket of water. I am willing to be your ally- as is every other person in that building," Charles explained as he pointed to the base behind him.

"Your kindness is wasted, Charles," Erik replied. The night wind whipped and the haunting souls' moans echoed through his ears. Erik turned away from the telepath and began to walk once more.

"I could stop you, you know." Charles paused with a sigh then continued, "But I won't. I could, but it would be useless." Erik simply stared in reply. It had been too long since Erik had encountered a truly genuine man. Everyone somehow used Erik to their advantage, but Charles was different. He didn't seem to have any desire to abuse Erik or his trust. But somehow, that wasn't enough; Erik continued to walk away.

* * *

><p>"You can use Hank's locator device to find the mutants, then an agent can be sent out to fetch them," Carl explained to Charles.<p>

"No," Erik replied as he leaned on the doorframe, "no Suits involved. This should be done mutant to mutant."

"Charles?" Carl asked.

Charles gave a smile to Erik then returned his attention to Carl. "Erik's right, no CIA involvement."

"And if I refuse?"

"Good luck finding your team without me," Charles replied. Carl gave a slight nod, and then rose from his seat.

"Follow me," he then said, and led them to Hank. As Charles and Erik entered the small room, both gazed at the large contraption that took up a significant amount of the room. When Hank realized they were staring at his invention, he said,

"I call it Cerebro the-"

"Spanish word for brain, yes," Charles finished for him.

"Yeah," Hank smiled, "well, um, here, put this on. He held out the large helmet for Charles. The telepath walked over to Hank and placed the large contraption on his head. "So this will amplify your abilities so you can pinpoint the mutants, and then the coordinates will be printed here," Hank explained pointing to the machine.

"Right," Charles replied. The excitement built up within him- this was his moment.

"You make such a good lab rat, Charles," Erik taunted with a smirk.

"Don't ruin this for me, Erik," Charles replied. He was too thrilled to allow Erik's comment to get to him.

"I know a lab rat when I see one," Erik mumbled in return.

"So are you sure I can't shave your head, Charles? It would make this a little easier," Hank asked feebly.

"Don't touch my hair," Charles snapped back in return, and Hank nodded. As he began to turn on the machine, Charles closed his eyes. He felt the technology come alive, and felt the sparks fly through his brain extending his power. Flashes of faces flew through his mind, the ones of mutants glowing. He could hear the machine printing coordinates rapidly trying desperately to keep up with his brain. The team was coming together.

* * *

><p>"You came back," Charles said as he and Erik sat in the lounge room. Tomorrow they were off to find the mutants they had located.<p>

"Yes, well, you are the best chance I have at getting Shaw," Erik mumbled. He hated to admit it.

"It's alright you know, to not always be perfectly strong. That small weakness brought you back here; and as you said, to the best chance you have at finding Shaw."

"I suppose so," Erik replied. "But did you know, Charles that it is alright to be selfish sometimes?" Erik raised an eyebrow.

"How so?" Charles was not used to the roles being switched so suddenly on him.

"You spend all your energy on helping others, while you're slowly disintegrating. You have demons too. Do not pretend to not know what I speak of. I can see it in your face; and I know that image too well. Compulsively helping others will not mend your own wounds as much as you'd love to think so."

Charles did not know how to respond. He had never fully opened up to anyone and the thought of doing so seemed so foreign to him. This was his chance, though. Someone had lent an ear to him, and he wasn't about to deny it. "I suppose it's all I've ever done. I have gotten so accustomed to solving the strife of others, that I have forgotten how to help myself. I find it much easier to fix the problems of others."

"So does everyone. It's because someone else's troubles aren't our own. We usually aren't bias or that emotionally connected to the situation. When it is our pain though, we are locked to it with ball and chain. It is harder to end the pain when you're simultaneously living in it."

"Why are you helping me?" Charles asked. "It doesn't seem to be something you'd voluntarily do."

"Why am I? Because you are the first person in years who has wanted to know my story and chosen to care," Erik replied quietly.

"You're welcome, Erik. Everyone needs someone to care- I can be that for you and you for me." Charles was stunned by the fact that Erik had opened up to him. Not only had he let his façade of power fall, but he had genuinely wanted to help Charles. Surprisingly to Charles, there was still much he had yet to learn about Erik.

"Yes," Erik said in simple reply.

"Well, we have a very early morning tomorrow. Goodnight, Erik," Charles said rising from his seat.

"Goodnight, Charles."

* * *

><p>Alright, so there's chapter seven! I really wanted to thank everyone who has reviewed, subscribed, and added this story to their favorites. It truly means so much to me! So as for this chapter, I don't have much to say. As you've probably noticed, I have tweaked the original First Class story a tad- please don't kill me! The alterations were needed. Anyways, again, I appreciate everything you guys have done for this story- you're all amazing!<p>

**Remember, reviews are love, people! **


	8. Chapter 8

_CIA Covert Base, Virginia _

"I've got all the coordinates," Charles said holding up the piece of paper filled with latitudes and longitudes. The parchment was oddly light for the amount of weight it carried. Erik nodded at his companion and sunk into the driver's seat of the black car. As Charles heard the car door slam, he sighed; it was going to be a long journey. Sensing Erik's anticipation to leave, Charles slipped into the passenger side closing the door softly.

"Where's the first location?" Erik asked numbly as he turned the car around the bend. After this long driveway, the two men were home free; led into a world where around every corner there could be a potential team member.

"A club in Baltimore," Charles replied. He had no knowledge of how this trip would go. Erik was such a hot and cold man, every second was unpredictable.

"So we have a bit of a drive, then," Erik muttered, "leaves a substantial amount of time for talking." Erik then took the directions that were sitting next to Charles.

"I suppose it does," Charles nodded. He hoped that was an invitation for conversation. Erik turned the wheel slightly, and they were now on to the main road. For miles there would only be farmland, and without blinding talk, clear boredom would take over. Charles glanced at his companion. His lips were tightly closed, showing no signs of being social. Charles knew better than to pester Erik into speaking, so he inhaled deeply, sinking into his seat for the long silent ride.

"Do you think the Americans and Soviets will really start a nuclear war?" Erik asked softly after minutes of silence. Charles shot him a shocked look but quickly recovered.

"Men have always found it difficult to not use their new toys," Charles replied.

"Or power," Erik added bitterly. Charles nodded.

"The world is going down a destructive path, and soon I fear the breaks will no longer work. "

"I think some men are hoping for that day. When chaos is abundant you can be sure grimy politicians are too. People don't mind how it happens; they just want the chaos to end." Erik licked his suddenly dry lips.

"Once the peace is restored though," Charles began.

"Once peace is restored, blood will run down the streets once more. The world cannot afford peace; it's not a profitable business."

"You forget about love and kindness, Erik. Not all the world is a salesman. "

"No matter how much you think you love someone, you'll still step back when the pool of their blood edges up too close." Erik's eyes flashed with darkness. Yet this time, it didn't fade. His ice blue eyes grew colder until Charles was sure if Erik cried they would be iced crystals.

"Cynicism is no better than blood. It is the result of many wounds; something filled with terror. And like blood, once it's spilled, it's difficult to stop."

"Blood, Charles, is misunderstood. It is not the blood people should fear, but rather the instrument used to spill it. Why is it that people are not terrified by tears? They too fall because of some wound. " Erik saw Charles's confused face. "When you grow up in a world where spilt blood means nothing, it allows you to have these thoughts. So, Charles, answer the question: why are tears not as terrible as blood?"

Charles thought. He knew what he should say: 'tears and blood are both results of eviler acts. That is what should terrify us.' But for some reason, he could not bring himself to answer in such a way. "Because it's our disguise. We pretend to fear brutality in order to hide our true savage demeanor. We're no more civilized than the monkey; the only difference is that humans have perfected the art of deceit."

"Never would I have expected those words from you," Erik said as he turned left to head to the city.

"I'm just as cynical as you, Erik."

"My question is though, why?" Erik raised an eyebrow.

"My father committed suicide because of blackmail and the war. My mother was a bitter wreck who took her stresses and pain out on me. As a telepath, it only made it harder." Charles spoke almost as if he was a recording. No emotion streaked across his face; no stutter or crack was in his voice. Life had made him so scarred, that the nerves forgot how to work. "Life is difficult for those who plaster a smile on their face."

"Then why go through the pain?"

"Because no matter if there is a smile or not, I still hurt in the inside. Might as well let the world believe I am happy- and sometimes even, I believe it myself." Charles couldn't help but let the sad smile trickle onto his lips; out of habit, out of hope.

"You truly are a master of deceit." Erik stared at Charles, trying to see past the soft and patient mask. Underneath, he could tell there was a fire in Charles- a fire he kept deep down. Now Erik had never been a man to change who another was, but Charles had so much potential. If he used his rage and depression, Erik was sure Xavier could do much more than go around doing the CIA's errands.

"I just know how the world works. The first step to being deceiving is allowing others to deceive you. For years my mother egged on my theory that I was the reason for my father's death." Charles swallowed. "To an innocent eye, they cannot detect the lies that swirl in the eyes of the deceiver- I caught on. After years of training to keep the swirling lies away, you can one day say 'yes thank you, I'm splendid' and even the most observant person cannot detect the lie."

"It is hard to let the past rest when it affects all we are in the present," Erik whispered as they entered Baltimore. He wanted to talk about Charles's pain- be able to take it all away. But something in Charles's eyes told Erik otherwise.

Charles cleared his throat. Taking the paper that lied in between him and Erik, he said, "turn left up here. The club is on your right."

"Alright," Erik replied with a nod.

"We certainly do know how to carry on a heavy conversation."

"It's who we are, I guess," Erik said as he slowed down the car to find their destination.

"Well, let's be out of character for a while, shall we?" Charles raised a mischievous eyebrow at Erik. The German followed the Englishman's gaze to the sign of the club; the strip club.

* * *

><p>Charles and Erik entered the club, not knowing what was racing through their minds. In a desperate attempt to keep his mind off the pretty girls, Charles began to notice what people were drinking. Dry martinis were in the hands of many of the older men. He watched as their wrinkled faces brightened at the sound of the stripper's hollow comments. The glass in their hands would slowly shake, and they'd take another gulp to numb whatever inhibitions kept their money in their pockets and their hands off the toned girls. Charles prayed that when he got to that age he would not need a dingy club to keep up an illusion of pleasure and happiness.<p>

"Let's go to the bar," Erik muttered. Charles nodded, but he kept an observant eye on the inhabitants of the club. He could see the men glance darkly at them as they walked to the bar. Possibly because as new customers entered, the attention the ladies paid to them lessened. Charles was in no mood to sift through the intoxicated thoughts of the men, so he let the lost friend of curiosity stay for a while.

"Hi there, boys," a seductive voice purred at them. Erik took a sip of his wine and slowly turned to face the girl with a smirk on his face. He knew that this was the mutant. He could hear it in her voice, and see it in the sparkle in her eye. This girl knew she was different- now all Erik had to decide was if she was proud or shy. The girl leaned in close, smiling alluringly at Erik. The curves of her breasts touched Erik's chest lightly, and he had to remind himself once more that he was here on business. He slipped the girl some money.

"With that tip, you've earned yourself a private meeting." She winked at Erik. She watched as the German gave a mischievous glance to Charles, but said nothing.

"My lucky night," Erik replied. She led them to a private room, with a large red bed placed in the center. Charles hoped to god that Erik would continue to treat this as business; not pleasure.

"You know that it's double for the both of you," she said, trying to keep the dryness from her voice.

"We were thinking more of we'll show you ours, if you show us yours." Erik smirked. He loved toying with this girl.

"Baby," she chuckled humorlessly, "that is not the way it works around here." She put her hands on her hips, making her already large bust become even more prominent behind the tight and minimal clothing.

"Well, bend the rules, then." He snapped his fingers, and lifted the metal plate the bottle of wine was sitting on, bringing it to him. "More wine, Charles?" Charles only laughed in return, and looked back at the beautiful brunette standing in front of them.

"My turn," she smiled. It was genuine; no seduction, just happiness. The tattoos that had cluttered her back lifted off the skin, turning into wings. The girl lifted herself off the ground, and watched for Erik and Charles's response.

"How would you like a job where you can keep your clothes on?" Charles raised an eyebrow. He knew already that the answer was a yes.

* * *

><p>"Why are we at an aquarium?" Erik moaned dryly. Charles had been dragging him all over the country in pursuit of their mutants. This was one of the final stops, and he couldn't be gladder.<p>

"It's what the coordinates say; I have no power over that," Charles replied, scanning for the mutant. His mind would set off an alarm when he touched the thoughts of a mutant- a mutant's power was always on their minds.

"Well, couldn't you use your telepathy on the paper? That would be so convenient." Erik followed behind Charles.

"The day paper gains the power of thought; I'll be right on that. But for now, you're stuck." Charles turned to face Erik and smiled. Looking past Erik, he saw a redhead standing alone by a large glass window. He could tell the mutant was contemplating using his power on the fish. Charles slapped Erik's shoulder, and walked past him.

"Hi there," Charles greeted. It wasn't his usual introduction, but he figured he'd try to be hip for the teenager.

"The field trip went that way," the redhead said, sticking his thumb out to his left. Charles wasn't sure if he should laugh or feel offended. He had seen the group of spastic five year olds rush by like the frontlines of an army, and wanted no affiliation with them.

"I'm actually here to see you," Charles replied.

"Okay, man, if it's about what happened in the cafeteria- it; yeah, that wasn't me. You see, I have this evil twin brother, and yeah." The redhead nodded proudly as if he had just figured out the cure for cancer.

"Right, of course you had nothing to do with it," Charles replied sarcastically, "I'm not here because of that either."

"Okay, so I'm running out of ideas of what you could be. That tie and stuff? So not cool. So what are you, a shrink or something? I told my mom that I was fine, so adios, amigo. And before you go, just know that I don't spend as much time here as she claims I do."

"I'm here about your mutation," Charles finally told him. The game of guessing was getting old, and the kid didn't seem to be perfectly sober.

"Oh… dude, well, if you put it like that," he laughed and smacked Charles's upper arm. Charles knew that Sean hadn't the slightest clue what he was talking about, but didn't mention anything. He just wanted to get Sean and go.

"You're going to come with us," Charles told him. It sounded like it was an invitation, but Charles had sneaked in some telepathy. He was tired and in no mood to fight with Sean on the matter.

"Don't use your powers for evil," Erik taunted as the trio walked to the exit of the aquarium.

"The line between good and evil is very thin with telepathy," Charles told him, "so I'm toying with it a little. Right now, it's like Hadrian's Wall; I have one leg in good, the other in evil. It's quite fun to be a little of both."

"Just don't fall, alright? Because I won't know what side you've fell in," Erik said lightly.

"I might have fallen already," Charles shrugged. On their little adventure, Charles and Erik had avoided any obvious heavy conversations for the sake of both of their sanity and wellbeing. They knew the sickness of depression tagged very close behind them, so they kept light as much as possible. And for them, that frantic weightlessness was enough.

* * *

><p>Okay, so I cannot apologize enough! I am so sorry it's been forever since an update! Life has been crazy for me, so I hope you can forgive me. Also, I was going to add more to this chapter, but it has taken me so long, that I figured I'd just post it now. I wanted to thank you guys again for all of the support with this story; it honestly means the world to me! Remember, hours and days to write, seconds or minutes to review.<p>

**Remember, reviews are love, people! **


	9. Chapter 9

_Covert CIA Base, Virginia _

Aila waited impatiently for her husband and Erik to return. It had been two months since she had last seen him face to face, and the anguish was killing her. She knew that Charles had left her with their relationship in slightly rough waters—Aila prayed the little progress they had made would still be there.

"You know, if you keep your face in that position for too long, it'll get stuck like that," Raven taunted from the doorframe. Aila turned to face her sister-in-law and smiled vaguely.

"Thanks, Raven," she returned.

"What? No epic comeback? I'm disappointed in you." Raven entered the room, sitting next to Aila.

"Sorry. I just—I'm worried, I suppose."

"What for?" Raven cocked her head.

"Charles is changing; and I'm staying stagnant. Or maybe it is the other way around. I don't know. I have always felt that I've had the answers; or a large amount. But with Charles, it's different. He's different. I am afraid I will lose him." Aila broke her gaze with Raven. Erik was also on her mind. Although the telepath hadn't known him for long, there was something alluring in his dark past and experienced eyes. She felt some odd connection to the German… one she did not feel with Charles; and that frightened Aila.

"Why would you lose him? Aila, Charles is Charles. That's all there is to it. He's mysterious, operates behind closed doors… but he loves you. That's for sure."

"Sometimes I don't feel that way. I see the way he looks at Moira. Do you think we got married too quickly?" Aila rubbed her temples. What was wrong with her?

"I think time and love are two things that never go well together. It would be like mixing alcohol with peanut butter."

"And you know what that tastes like?" Aila drawled, giving her sister-in-law a sideways glance.

"Not good. But time is the peanut butter, okay? Awesome on its own. A little sticky and hindering sometimes, but in the end always worth it. But love is like alcohol. It's exhilarating; freeing; at times a real bitch when it burns. But mixing them, they don't work. I guess what I'm saying is that if you love him, it doesn't matter if you married him the second you met him or twenty years later." Raven gave a shrug. She felt an odd sense of power being able to give advice to the all-knowing Aila.

"I suppose I understand your point. I am just so conflicted."

"There's more to your problem than you're letting on. Spill; right now." Raven leaned in closer.

"I—oh, Raven, I'm a terrible person."

"What'd you do? Sleep with an agent?"

"No!"

"A coworker from the school?"

"Certainly not!"

"A random guy at a bar?" Raven's smile widened. That had to be it.

"No, Raven; I did not sleep with anyone!"

"Then… what'd you do?" Raven was puzzled. Sex was always it…

"I have… feelings…"

"For…" Raven probed.

"Mr. Lensherr. " Aila dropped her head once more.

"Sexual feelings?" Raven asked tauntingly.

"Stop with the sex topic, Raven! I get that your hormones are quite needy, but please direct your sexual feelings into a different part of your brain that is not having this conversation with me." Aila ran a hand through her hair.

"Sorry, can't help it. There's just something kinky about you sleeping with him. I mean, he's hot, has an accent, and it doesn't hurt that he's one of your husband's close friends."

"You're a cruel girl sometimes, Raven, you know that?" Aila lifted her eyes to Raven.

"What can I say? It's all part of the Raven charm."

"Well, your charm is decreasing rapidly," Aila deadpanned.

"Look," Raven began in all seriousness, "I don't know what you want me to say. You have feelings for the guy; big deal! You love Charles… it shouldn't matter that Erik appeals to you on the physical level."

Aila only responded with a heavy sigh and guilty glance.

"It's not just physical, is it?" Raven clutched her thigh tightly. This wasn't happening. Shouldn't be happening. She knew that letting Aila into Charles' life would only cause him strife. Why had she not protected Charles like she had always vowed to do? This news would simply break Charles Xavier's heart. Raven didn't know if she could bear it.

"No, it's not simply physical. I know I have not known him long. And I understand that there is no reason why I should crave or desire anyone other than Charles. But something clicks with Erik. There's a certain spark. Raven, Charles and I are almost identical. And while such compatible personalities are wonderful, there is something splendid to be said for the bickering; differing of ideas. Polite smiles, nods, and agreements are nice; don't get me wrong. But intense passion and love that breaks the barrier of differing personalities is…"

"Magic?" Raven's voice was a vacant shell. She knew what Aila spoke of. That's how she felt about Charles. Could Aila not see how perfect Charles was? Why would she do _anything _to risk losing that?

"Yes," Aila replied dreamily, "magic. But I cannot. I shouldn't want Erik. Oh Raven, I don't know what to do anymore. I love Charles, but Erik isn't such a bad catch either."

"Here's how I see it: you can take the risk with Erik. You can either succeed with Erik, or lose everything: including Charles. Or, you could keep with the awesome life you have now, and not let a silly crush destroy everything great you have going for you. But then again, I'm me and you're you." Raven could wring Aila's neck.

"And there lies my problem. I want both."

"But you can't have both, Aila," Raven bit back; the fire steaming into her voice. "Have Charles, have Erik; just make some sort of choice. You can't keep leading Charles on like this. You have no right to worry about you losing him, when you're thinking of ditching him yourself. Want my honest advice? Let Erik the hell go. He's not yours to have, and you shouldn't want him. I get that he's different; a real pistol. But after a while, all a gun really does to you is hurt you." With that, Raven rose from her seat, stomping out of the room.

Aila sat there stunned. Rubbing her hands over her face, she felt the cool sting of her wedding ring. She didn't deserve it. Or her life or Charles. Aila's insides felt like molten pits of toxic waste, clogging any purity left in her. Since when had Aila become such a lowlife? She felt utterly sick. Blinking her eyes, the growing tears began to stream down the sides of her face. She hated herself; loathed her utter existence. Yet still, Erik Lensherr could not escape her mind.

* * *

><p>So, this is probably the shortest thing I have ever written… but, I need to get back into the flow of the story; so I thought a short chapter might help with that. I know very little has happened, but I still hope that you review and give me your thoughts on what should happen next. Because I honestly have no idea…<p>

_Be good and review! _


	10. Chapter 10

_Covert CIA Base, Virginia _

Aila paced the small garden in a secluded corner of the base, taking in the smell of the roses, lilies, and lilacs. They had always been her favorite. They had a way of calming her, that no other person, place, or thing ever could.

But even today, her flowers did her little good. Charles had called, informing her that he and Erik would be back this afternoon, with some of the new recruits.

She wasn't ready. In all honesty, she didn't think she'd ever be. So alas, in a matter of an hour or so, she'd have to face her husband, and the mystifying Erik Lensherr.

Finding a comfy spot on the single bench in the garden, she allowed her mind to wander back to the fateful day she met Charles at Georgetown all those years ago.

She'd been so naïve. So ready for anything genuine she could find. Charles was that, and so much more. Aila loved him. It wasn't that she didn't. But he embodied the old her. The Aila that was simplistic, wanting nothing more than a home to go to every night, and safe and secure arms to snuggle in. Charles had always given her that. Unfalteringly so. He was so perfect, it almost suffocated her.

She was less like him than she led others, and herself, to believe. She longed for the fire. The bickering fights, the bed that had the potential to be empty some, or most, nights. Aila desired the unpredictability of life.

Was that wrong?

No. But when her wanting such things had the potential to harm Charles, the answer should be 'yes, it was wrong'. But Aila didn't exactly feel that. Part of her wanted to go with Erik just to tempt Charles. To see what he'd do when his façade had the potential to be broken.

He couldn't take everything like an honest and chivalrous gentleman. He just couldn't.

But then again, he was Charles Xavier: the man who could do no wrong.

She leaned her head against the wooden bench, feeling the peeling wood of the thing digging into her skull.

It felt good almost. It was sadist to say maybe, but Aila was tired of her life being so perfect.

A part of her prayed that Erik and Charles would have to be delayed. Although she missed Charles' kind features and reassuring smile, and longed for Erik's signature smirk and mischievous eyes to focus on her, them being so far away was actually kind of soothing; comforting.

God, was she messed up.

What had she become?

She placed her head heavily in her hands, running her fingers through her oily hair.

Aila felt disgusting. Inside and out.

She was a whore, in a sense. A dirty little slut who wanted two men all to herself.

"Damn it," she whispered weakly, feeling her lip begin to tremble slightly.

Longing to apologize never did count as actually doing it.

"Aila," Raven said awkwardly, approaching the bench carefully, "Charles and Erik are back."

She straightened up, planting a smile on her face, and using the glisten in her eyes for happiness instead of tears. "Oh, how wonderful! Have you met any of the new recruits yet?" She flashed a flawless smile, hoping it would cover all of the darkness in her.

"No," Raven replied hesitantly, "I haven't. But we will soon enough." Aila knew Raven was trying to urge something out of her, or wanted her to believe something, but she daren't look into Raven's thoughts. The younger girl had gotten quite good at noticing a foreign invader.

"Yes," she said enthusiastically, "we will." She followed her sister-in-law back into base, and she felt guilty just looking at the girl. Her sister-in-law. It felt terrible to say. She didn't deserve to call her that. She twisted her ring furiously, trying with all her might to not just take it off entirely.

They entered one of the many conference rooms, this particular one decked out with sofas, and Aila caught Erik's attention almost immediately.

He stared at her. Despite the obviously less vibrant look she had, Aila still seemed like a goddess to him. Flawless beauty. A bird, held down from flight by nothing but a smile ring on her finger. It was probably laborious to wear though. He gave her a smirk, that somehow melded into a smirk over the course of its growth, and her eyes flickered with—was that pleasure he saw? Yes, it must have been.

Both Erik and Aila noticed Charles shifting his weight next to his German friend, and Aila's gaze shot up to Charles. She flashed him a smile so grand; it embodied all of New York City on New Year's Eve. He returned the gesture tenderly, his blue eyes shining with nothing but innocent love.

She made sure she kept her mind blocked from him. If he even got a whiff of her thoughts, and the man they centered around, her husband's smile would horrifically morph.

Aila felt her heart falter as she walked over with forged eagerness, and flung her arms around Charles' neck. She breathed in his scent of a crisp ocean breeze and what seemed to be pine needles, and kissed him softly on the cheek.

His skin was purgatory.

Leaning her chin on his shoulder, she opened her brilliant emerald eyes, to catch Erik's gaze on her from behind Charles.

Lord have mercy. He was a beautiful man. Such sharp features and steel blue eyes. He was all she wanted in the moment.

Charles' once secure arms now suffocated her. She longed to know what Erik Lensherr's embraces were like. What the taste would be if she kissed him. She wanted to hear his words, accentuated with their German flare, as he ran his massive hands through her hair.

She wanted him oh so badly.

She held tighter onto Charles, closing her eyes once more. He was Erik, in her mind. He had to be, if she wanted to keep the embrace as genuine as possible.

Finally she broke away from him. "It's so good to see you again, Charles," she almost cooed, another smile spreading on her face. She tried to mimic her feelings from when she first saw him in a Georgetown walkway, and it worked.

Momentarily.

But then Erik had to look at her again with those eyes. God, those eyes… (x)

I suck. Like completely, entirely, and I'm really sorry. You readers/reviewers are honestly the best. And what have I done to repay you? I've waited a damn six months or so to update. I cannot begin to tell you how sorry I am, and how I regret how little happened in this chapter. You guys have every right to hate me. I'd hate me too. But, if you don't entirely despise me, please oh please tell me what you think! I'm thinking that next chapter will focus more on the recruits and them getting to know each other. There's been too much angst in this story! Haha. Anyways, feel free to hate me (I totally deserve it) and expect a _much _quicker update next time. Ideas are always welcome, by the way!

_Be good and review_


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